


The Man Behind The Shield

by theragingstorm



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1920s, 1930s, 1940s, Anti-Irish Sentiment, Antisemitism, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Cheeseburgers, Drag Queens, F/F, F/M, Family Secrets, Gap Filler, Gen, Historical Accuracy, Jewish Bucky Barnes, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Medical issues, Multi, POV Character of Color, POV Female Character, Past-Present Merge, Peggy Carter is amazing, Potatoes, Pre-Canon, Racism, Sexism, Trans Female Character, Undercover Natasha strikes again, biography, so many lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theragingstorm/pseuds/theragingstorm
Summary: It's been sixty-four years after Steve Rogers dove a plane into the Arctic, and after people forgot who he was in lieu of Captain America. Everyone's got a different opinion on who that should be. Most of the people who knew who he was are gone, including the secret love of his life. But Bucky Barnes' sisters and their families live on. A few stubborn old folks with big mouths refuse to die. And one very determined grand-niece has decided to figure out the truth for herself.Mix in a Harvard history professor, a cat, a lot of old gay people, the best cheeseburgers in Brooklyn, and the true madness of the extended Barnes family, and you might just have a recipe for a book that finally reveals the real story of Steven Grant Rogers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [taps mic] is this thing on?
> 
> So it’s been a long, long time since I wrote a multichapter fic, and frankly, I’m nervous. I’m nervous about the ambitious plot length & the idea of linking two time periods together, I’m nervous about the inclusion of OCs, and I’m nervous about reception to something different than the usual kind of Stucky fanfic.
> 
> But nonetheless. I needed to know what happened to Bucky Barnes’ family after the war, I needed to know what happened to Steve Rogers before it, and I needed to know what the requirements for writing a biography about America’s greatest superhero and his lover would be.
> 
> So without further ado, I present this humble fic. I hope you all enjoy it.

_“One of the most taken-for-granted truths of storytelling: every hero must have a backstory. Without one, the hero is as flat and two-dimensional as the paper they are written on. And yet, when it comes to our real-life heroes, we like to pretend that they sprang into existence ready to fight for a cause; that they were born with a gun in hand, sword – or in this case, shield – at the ready. We don’t like to imagine our heroes as anything as mundane as human. But in doing this, we rob them of the chance to be remembered as a person instead of a figure on a pedestal. We dehumanize historical figures when we act as though they only existed when they were doing great deeds; or to further our own causes. And that in itself begs the question: who was a person before they became a hero?”_

–from the introduction to _The Man Behind The Shield: Who Steve Rogers Was When He Wasn’t Captain America;_ copyright © 2012 by Johanna W. Proctor

 

* * *

 

_Brooklyn Heights, 2009_

 

Contrary to what certain conservative newscasters would later claim, Johanna did not wake up on that sultry July morning with the intent to destroy an American icon with her gay agenda. 

She had actually intended to sleep longer. 

But since the alarm had gone off two hours earlier than it was supposed to – and since Chewbacca had unexpectedly dug his claws into her back and meowed for breakfast while she fumbled for her clock to turn it off – she decided that she might as well drag herself out of bed and start assembling her notes.

Johanna made it downstairs with Chewie in her arms and scooped some Friskies into a bowl before she turned on the TV.

Unfortunately, it was still tuned to Channel Nine from the previous evening’s hate-watch session.

_“–despite the protests from liberals, as his birthday is coming soon, we have all felt it’s time to clear up some misconceptions about Captain America that they would try to perpetuate. He would not have stood for their ideals; would not have let ugly feminists or the gays take over the country–”_

“Suck my balls, Megyn Kelly,” Johanna grumbled as she punched the OFF button with rather more force than necessary.

Chewie looked up from his breakfast and mewed. 

“Don’t talk to me in that tone of voice, young man.”

She tossed the remote to the other side of the couch and scooped up the scribbled pages off the coffee table from where she’d left them.

_Talk to Bubbe_

_Talk to Aunt Miriam_

_Peggy Carter??_

_~~Mom & Dad~~ _

_Talk to WWII vets_

_Don’t bother Lilly_

_~~Or Evie~~ _

_Feel free to bother Evie_

_???_

_Profit_

“Clearly,” Johanna muttered, resisting the urge to grin, “drunk, sleep-deprived me is even more ambitious than normal me.”

Chewie finished his breakfast and clambered up on the couch next to her, rubbing up against her thigh.

“But…there is potential here. You think I could source my grandmother? My AP American History class sure as hell didn’t like that, but the teacher was a total asshole anyway–”

“Jo?”

Johanna turned.

Lilly was perched halfway down the stairwell with a fluffy yellow bathrobe thrown over her lightsaber sleep shirt. Her normally sleek hair was turning back to its natural frizzy curls; her lovely face twisted in concern.

“Lils, it’s four-thirty. Go back to sleep.”

“What are you doing up then?” Lilly countered, stepping forward. “Jo, if it’s about that stupid TV–”

“Not really.” Johanna got up from the couch and walked over to the staircase so that the two women were nose-to-nose. Lilly’s face from this close was hardly anything she hadn’t seen a thousand times, but her heart let out a few helpless stutters nonetheless. Still a girl with a crush, after all these years. 

“Then what’s it about?”

“Who says it’s about anything?”

“Johanna…” Lilly’s voice was soft. “I know you. You never get up early unless you’ve got something on your mind. You don’t have to bottle it up, you know.”

Johanna stayed quiet for a few seconds more.

“Jo?”

“I kind of have a crazy idea.”

Lilly looked at her for a little bit longer, reappraising the situation.

“I’m gonna need some coffee before you tell me your crazy idea,” she decided.

“Fair enough.”

Johanna took her hand and escorted her down from the staircase like a fairytale prince, and the two women stumbled to the kitchen in all their cotton-and-fluff glory. Chewie bounded off the couch and twined himself around their ankles as Lilly slumped over the island in the middle of the kitchen.

Johanna brushed her tangled cornrows out of her eyes and bustled around the coffeemaker, taking a moment to deliberate between French Roast and Hazelnut. 

“Regular, babe?”

Lilly murmured her assent. 

Johanna smiled faintly before loading scoops of Hazelnut into the machine. 

As she waited for the coffee to brew, she regarded the scene before her. Lilly, wiping sleep out of her eyes and stroking Chewie with her foot, kept her gaze locked on the machine as the steady _drip drip_ meandered down into a chipped Iron Man mug. Traces of yellow sunrise peeked through the blue curtains, and the ever-present sound of New York maintained a low growl; despite the hour.

After the timer let out a loud ping, Johanna poured what seemed like half a bottle of cream into the mug and set it before her girlfriend.

As Lilly took a deep draught, Johanna sat opposite her and, for a moment, was able to enjoy the quiet and company without a worry. They were alone with nowhere to be just yet; and even anticipating having to explain her newest ambition, she was still able to relax.

Lilly set down the mug and wiped the cream off her lip before Johanna could make any mustache jokes.

“So…what’s your crazy idea? Don’t worry; whatever it is, it can’t possibly be dumber than your cousins’ plan to try and make a skateboard ramp for your aunt Rachel’s car.”

Johanna snorted.

“I don’t know, Lils. It might just be.”

“Well, explain it to me and I’ll decide how stupid it is.”

Johanna folded her legs under the chair and faced Lilly. From the pocket of her Harry Potter lounge pants, she withdrew her notes. 

Then she took a deep breath.

“So, it’s kind of about my family history…but you know, what isn’t…”

 

* * *

 

_Bedford-Stuyvesant, 1990_

 

“Mom, you don’t need to show her that great big thing. She’ll barely be able to hold it.”

“Don’t be silly, Jim,” Becca said briskly, handing Johanna the massive history textbook. “She’s already seven, she can do it.”

“Yeah Tatti, no problem!” Johanna squeaked, her small arms trembling under the weight of the book. She eagerly dropped down on the worn green carpet and let the book fall beside her with a thud.

Jim Proctor, a tall stocky man with Becca’s dark hair and an ever-present frown, shook his head at his mother and daughter before taking a seat next to them.  

“Mom, I just don’t want you to show her anything inappropriate for her age.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jim. Firstly, no one should water down history for anyone; not even children. Secondly, I just want her to know who she’s related to.”

Jim stiffened.

“Mom–”

“Bubbe, who’re those guys?”

Both Jim and Becca’s heads snapped down towards the young girl. The book had fallen open in front of Johanna’s lap, flipping immediately to the page Becca had bookmarked. A black-and-white photo of two young white men in uniform took up most of the page; one fair-haired and the other dark-haired. The fair-haired man had a star emblazoned across his chest; the dark-haired one looked vaguely familiar.

Becca knelt next to her as much as her old joints would allow and rested one finger across the dark-haired man’s face.

“He was my brother. And the one beside him was my brother’s–” For some reason that young Johanna didn’t understand, her grandmother hesitated, “–my brother’s best friend.”

“Mom…” There was a warning note in Jim’s voice. “She’s only a kid.”

“I know that, James.” Something else that Johanna didn’t understand was in her grandmother’s voice. 

So she focused on what she could understand.

“‘Was?’ Did they die?”

“Yes.” Becca’s voice was soft. “They died in World War II, forty-five years ago.”

“So why should I know about 'em?”

Becca flinched, ever so slightly. Jim looked profoundly uncomfortable.

“Because…they’re famous.”

“They’re famous!?”

“Uh-huh. And my brother was a hero, and because of that, his friend became a hero too.”

“Were they really that good friends?”

Johanna, staring wide-eyed at her grandmother, missed the way her father grimaced at her words. Becca, for her part, chuckled.

“They were closer than anyone. I should know; I had to listen to them natter about each other constantly while they were still alive.” The old woman’s eyes fell fondly on the picture of the two men. “They were quite the double act; my brother Bucky Barnes and his best friend Steve Rogers. Always getting in and out of trouble together. They used to drive my parents near-insane; and it didn’t get much better even when they went off to war together. Never willingly apart from each other, those two.”

The little girl stared down at the picture of her great-uncle and the star-spangled-man; marveling at the extent of their friendship. Most of the boys she knew barely wanted to touch each other’s hands for fear of appearing “gay,” whatever _that_ was. 

“That’s enough for today,” Jim interrupted all of a sudden, snapping the book shut and pulling it away.

“What?” Johanna protested. “But I wanna know more! Tatti!”

“Sorry, bubbeleh.” Her father looked distinctly uncomfortable. “But it’s already eight-o-clock, and you should be in bed. Besides, your grandmother’s probably tired, right Mom?”

Becca gave her son a dirty look.

“ _Fine_.” Johanna stomped off irritably to her room, thinking uncharitable things about her father the whole way.

As she fluffed up her pillows and snuggled down with her plush animals, she suddenly heard a snatch of conversation outside the door, and realized it was her parents. She immediately slipped from her bed and moved over to the door, pressing her ear against the keyhole.

“Jim, you can’t hide it from her forever.”

“I can damn well hide it from her now. She’s only seven, Louisa, she doesn’t need to know what happened between them.”

“Jim, honestly, your mother only wanted to share a little bit of family history. You can hardly fault her for that. Besides, it’s not like she wasn’t going to find out she’s related to Barnes eventually.”

“That’s not the problem, Lou. She was about to let slip…”

Both of Johanna’s parents suddenly went quiet.

“Do you think she’s still awake?”

“Maybe.”

“Shit.”

“Jim!”

“Don’t say anything else, Lou. Just in case she is still awake.”

They said nothing more after that.

Disappointed, annoyed, and even more confused than before, Johanna slumped back to bed. But she was asleep in minutes; the conversation between her parents pushed to the back of her mind.

 

* * *

 

_Howard Stark Memorial School, Kensington, 1994_

 

“Settle down, settle down!” Mrs. Ellis shouted to the class for the fourth time. “Jake, stop pulling Keesha’s hair. Melanie, leave Luis’s homework alone. And Dylan, if I see you’re making Tora cry one more time I’ll put you in detention." 

Mrs. Ellis was a rather squat white lady with bleached-blond hair and obvious gray roots. Her lack of control over the class was fairly clear; as it took another two minutes before the swarm of eleven-and-twelve-year-olds managed to settle down. It took another six minutes before they’d all handed in their final papers on the Great Depression, and Mrs. Ellis was satisfied that Dylan Farley hadn’t plagiarized his this time.

"Now, take out your textbooks and turn to page 312. We’ll be starting our unit on World War II today…”

Most of the other kids groaned in frustration.

But Johanna realized, as she flipped to the page in question, that she had an advantage over them.

“Before we start, can anyone tell me a little bit about the war–?”

Johanna’s hand punched the air before the teacher was even done talking.

“From 1943 onwards, the Allies – you know, America and everyone else – had a huge advantage over Hitler, the Nazis, and Hydra; their science division that went nuts and split off, all because of Captain Steve Rogers and his Howling Commandoes fighting them. Captain Rogers–”

“Captain America?” interrupted Melanie Williams. “I know him! My mom loves him!”

There was a murmur of assent from the rest of the class.

“Correct, Johanna,” Mrs. Ellis confirmed, looking grudgingly impressed. “Does anyone else have anything to say?”

“But Mrs. Ellis, I wasn’t done yet! Captain Rogers and the Howling Commandoes, including–” A note of pride slipped into her voice, “–my great-uncle Bucky Barnes, helped the Allies specifically by–”

“Don’t make things up, Johanna,” Mrs. Ellis snapped all of a sudden, her impressed look vanishing. “Does anyone have anything _true_ to say?”

Johanna stared, bewildered.

“I wasn’t making anything up!”

“Your great-uncle?” The teacher’s voice was disdainful. “If you’re going to lie to impress your classmates, it won’t work.”

“Yeah, we all know you’re full of shit, Proctor,” Luis Gonzalez muttered from the next desk over.

“Now, give the others a chance to–”

But Johanna was not cowed.

“I’m not lying!” she cried. “My bubbe and great-aunts are Bucky’s sisters! You can ask any one of them if you–”

“Enough!” the teacher snapped. “Johanna Proctor, I have had enough of you always causing trouble. You–” she gave the young girl a disdainful once-over,“ –could not be related to Bucky Barnes. Now sit down, or it’s the principal’s office again.”

Seething, Johanna sank back into her seat; knuckles clenched around the side of the desk. As soon as Mrs. Ellis was distracted by calling on Melanie, Dylan Farley leaned in from her other side and muttered in Johanna’s ear:

“Yeah, not like anyone like _you_ could be related to a real hero.”

“Shut up, Dylan.” Her nails dug into the fake wood of her desk.

“Ooh, make me, Miss I-Think-I’m-So-Better-Than-Us,” he mocked. “Cap didn’t die for some jumped-up half-blood brat to–”

“I said _shut up,_ Dylan!”

It came out much louder than she’d intended.

“Proctor! The principal’s office! Right now!”

Johanna scraped back her chair with more force than necessary and stalked out of the classroom. 

On her way out, she happened to glimpse, not for the first time, the carefully preserved stack of Captain America trading cards her teacher liked to keep on her desk.

 

* * *

 

_Temple Emanu-El, Upper East Side, 1999_

 

Evie and Johanna emerged from the synagogue with their arms around each others’ shoulders and Judith following close behind, typing something on her PalmPilot. 

“So your mom doesn’t expect you back until, what, tomorrow night?” Evie asked, brushing a hand through her straightened hair. She’d dyed vivid violet streaks in it this time, which contrasted sharply with the blouse and skirt she was wearing for temple.

“Yeah.” Johanna ran a hand over her own dress. “So what have you planned while I’m staying with you? A rave? A drinking contest? A surprise visit from Will Smith?”

Maybe they were too old at sixteen to be having sleepovers; but that had never mattered to the two cousins. There was always an abundance of junk food and videotapes at Evie and her parents’ house, and Johanna suspected that her parents were happy to be free of her discomfort-inducing rants for a couple days anyhow.

“God, I wish. But anyway, Mom just bought us movie tickets, and since you get to stay overnight, you can – Mom, what are you doing?”

Judith Proctor-Jackson, not a small woman under any circumstances, towered over most of the men coming out the synagogue in only three-inch heels. Her coffee-colored hair, sprinkled sparingly with gray, spun in waves down to her ribcage and her rather small gray eyes were centered on a point halfway down the road. She’d inherited Becca’s pale Irish skin, as opposed to her own daughter’s cherry-wood complexion.

“Waiting for your uncle. He promised that he’d meet us here.”

“Wait, you were serious? He’s actually coming?”

Judith pulled a ridiculous face.

“Darling, I’m always serious.”

“Mom, please.”

Johanna didn’t appreciate feeling left in the dark.

“Uncle Reuben promised to meet us here?” she interrupted. “Isn’t he off hiking in Alaska again?”

“Our other uncle, Jo,” Evie clarified.

“Benji? I thought he left the family years ago…”

She trailed off as two middle-aged men advanced down the street. 

“Your father doesn’t know about Benji being back in the city,” Judith informed Johanna. “And I’d prefer you didn’t tell him. He doesn’t approve of most his brother’s life choices; such as being gay and running off with a Crow man and liking punk rock.”

“Tatti does hate anything cool,” Johanna joked half-heartedly as the two men approached.

Nobody had told her that one of her uncles was gay. Jim had never even given an explanation as to _why_ his youngest brother had run off to Montana twenty years previously, no matter how many times she asked.

She took Evie by the shoulder.

“Did you know?”

Her cousin nodded.  

“Mom told me about Benji and Charlie years ago. I thought you knew…”

“Seriously? With my parents?” It came out more bitter than she’d intended.

“Fair point.”

“Benjamin Proctor!” Judith bellowed. Her voice cut through the Manhattan traffic like a foghorn. “Spare a hello for your old sister, whom you haven’t seen in years?”

“Spare me, Judy, I called just last week,” Benji grinned as he came over.  
He was a little grayer and more lined than Becca’s old photos, but had the same pale blue eyes and wavy dark hair. His smile was a little crooked, and he wore a black leather jacket over a _I Shook My Family Tree And A Bunch Of Nuts Fell Out_ t-shirt.

Johanna wasn’t sure whether to laugh or get offended.

The man beside her uncle, who had to be Charlie, had a smile that was more dryly amused; his earth-black eyes seemed to spark. His long salt-and-pepper hair was tied in two braids down his back; and he was dressed plainly in khakis with a red button-down shirt. His skin was almost the same pale brown as her own.

“Calls don’t count, Benji,” he remarked. “Especially if they only last five minutes…”

“Hey, you were the one distracting me during those five minutes, as I recall; it’s not like I could’ve kept calling my dear sister under such circumstances.”

Charlie, a dry smirk on his face, didn’t even bother to deny it. Judith’s mouth formed an 'O’ of mock indignation. Evie grinned awkwardly and looked at the sidewalk.

Johanna, for her part, roared with laughter.

Her uncle’s merry gaze fell on her next.

“Oh, I like this kid. She yours and Bill’s too, Judy?”

“Believe it or not, Johanna’s actually Jim’s and Louisa’s.”

For a moment, Benji’s grin faded. Then it returned so quickly Johanna almost believed it had never wavered.

“Some things skip a generation, I see.”

“Or a sibling _and_ a generation,” Charlie muttered under his breath; apparently under the impression that Johanna wouldn’t hear him. 

Before she could ask what he meant by that, he said out loud;

“Well, since now we know why we’ve never heard about her before, we should get to know Joha–”

But he was interrupted by a jeer from across the street.

The source of the jeer appeared to be a white boy about her age surrounded by a pack of his equally pasty friends. The whole group were sporting high-top sneakers vaguely reminiscent of Michael Jordan and ugly haircuts vaguely reminiscent of the Backstreet Boys. The catcaller was also wearing a t-shirt with the Captain America shield printed on it.  

Johanna’s blood began to boil just looking at it.

“What are you fags doing out on the street?” he yelled. “Shouldn’t you be dead of AIDS by now?”

His friends laughed stupidly.

Charlie’s face turned grim, but unsurprised. Benji looked rather like he’d been slapped in the mouth.

“If I could only give those brats a piece of my mind…” Judith growled. 

“Leave it, Judy,” her brother said suddenly. “You can’t stop every asshole in the world.”

Judith backed down, but continued to glower.

“How could they even tell…?” Evie started.

“What’re you looking all sad for? If you didn’t want the truth, you shouldn’t have walked over here holding hands! No wonder you’re all dying; you’re so stupid.”

More laughter.

“Picking on people for holding hands? He’s getting more creative, at least,” Charlie remarked sardonically.

Benji flinched. 

Johanna’s hands clenched into fists.

The catcaller appeared to be just getting warmed up.

“And you’re a Jew and an Indian too? You must really be used to dying at this point, so why–”

Johanna lost it.

“Picking on people for being gay, Native, and Jewish? Well now I know why you all have such a Hitler Youth look about you,” she shouted back.

The laughter died. 

The catcaller gaped like he couldn’t believe she had the audacity to say anything.

Meanwhile, Evie started applauding while the adults stared at Johanna like they were seeing her for the first time.

“Does she sound like…Mom’s old stories to you?” Judith murmured to her brother.

“That’s just what I was thinking,” Benji replied, his smile returning. Charlie grinned like never before.

But the catcaller regained himself.

“You can’t touch me, you burr-headed brat. No one’s going to take you seriously if you call me a Nazi while I’m wearing this.” He proudly gestured to his shirt.

Johanna opened her mouth and was about to _really_ let him have it when Evie caught her by the shoulder. There was distinct frustration and regret in her cousin’s eyes.

“Jo, wait. Cops are coming.”

Unfortunately, her cousin was right. Across the street, not far from where  the obnoxious group of boys were standing, a couple of police officers were emerging from a coffee shop, donuts in hand. They immediately looked right at her and Evie, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

The catcaller looked back between her and the cops. Then he shot her a smug look as if to say _I win._

“Fine. I won’t say anything else.”

She turned back to her family as if she were leaving. Then after a beat to make sure the cops weren’t looking, she twirled around and looked the catcaller dead in the eyes as she made a 'V’ with her fingers and flicked her tongue between them.

It took a moment to register.

Then his eyes almost bugged out of his head and he stumbled backward, knocking over two more of his friends.

Laughing, Johanna turned back to her family…

Then froze.

They were all staring at her with odd expressions on their faces…

Before they all broke into applause.

“Couldn’t have picked a better time to come out,” Charlie observed.

“Better than how we did it…”

“Don’t remind me,” Judith said, rolling her eyes. “But we’re still happy for you, Jo.”

Evie was too busy cackling with delight to say anything.

Johanna grinned and slung her arm back around her cousin’s shoulders, before the lot of them headed off to her aunt’s car.

She refused to think about having to come out to her parents.

 

* * *

 

_Forbidden Planet, Greenwich Village, 2004_

 

As the last few weeks of her senior year at NYU began to especially kick her ass, Johanna chose a rather odd time to realize that maybe her grades _shouldn’t_ define her, that law school was going to accept her whether she slept or not, and that her thesis was _done_ dammit, stop _worrying_.

But it still took almost half an hour’s worth of yelling from her roommate for her to get off the campus and do something other than turn red-eyed looking through her finals notes.

Which was how she found herself in a comic book store at eleven in the morning on a Sunday.

She had just slid the last of a Justice League series back onto the shelf and started flicking through a Batgirl-centric one just as a pack of women came arguing into the shop.

“–and you just shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand!”

“Don’t understand? I understand just fine. You’re being used, Lilly, and you still refuse to admit it!”

“I am not being used!”

“Oh really? How many times have you bailed your useless brothers out of jail?”

“They’re never doing anything wrong–”

“That’s what they say–”

“–and don’t you _dare_ insult my brothers. What about _your_ brother, Marlene? Didn’t he call Hannah a dyke when she brought her girlfriend over for Thanksgiving?”

“That’s different.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Ash and Rowan are thrown in jail for going to protests and forgetting their blinkers. Ethan knowingly called your cousin a slur and got off scot-free.”

Johanna, still holding the comic over her eyes and pretending to be absorbed in Barbara Gordon’s reluctant team-up with Selina Kyle, moved casually through the row and closer towards the group of arguing women. The cashier looked up from where he was scanning someone’s Hellboy t-shirt and frowned.

“I’m not going to shoplift a stupid comic,” Johanna muttered.

The cashier raised an eyebrow.

“Why do you care so much, anyway? You barely even know Hannah.”

“That’s beside the point–”

“Yeah, why do you care? I mean, I know you’re not gay or anything like that–”

“I’m bisexual, actually.”

The quiet tone with which this was spoken did nothing to lessen its impact.

The shop went completely silent.

Then a few gasps and whispers began to permeate the air.

The cashier seemed not to notice that he’d scanned the same figurine three times while he himself goggled.

Johanna could no longer pretend to be interested in her comic. She set it down next to a display of bobbleheads and moved closer to the other women.

The one who’d made her pronouncement had her back to Johanna, so that all she could see was sleek hair, a flash of skin like polished mahogany, and the hem of a jewel-green cardigan. Five other women stood before her, staring in shock.

“You’re…” the one who had to be Marlene whispered.

“Yeah.” Her voice quavered a bit. “My family already knows; I’ve been meaning to tell you guys for a while…”

“Oh of course your family knows,” snapped Marlene. “Since you obviously care about them more than anything.”

“They didn’t throw you out though? That’s a surprise.”

“Why do you hate them so much? Come to think of it, why do you hate me so much? We’ve known each other since the start of college–”

“And clearly all you ever wanted from us was to get close and _experiment_ with one of us,” a different woman spat.

“You clearly have no idea what bisexuality is, do you?” She sounded tired.

“I don’t need to. Come on, let’s go. Lilly can _walk_ home for all I care.”

They stormed out of the shop, much to the apparent relief of the cashier.

The other woman sighed and slumped against the display case.

“Well, that went well,” she muttered to herself.

“They’re assholes,” Johanna burst out, much to her own surprise. “They didn’t deserve you–”

The other woman turned around, and Johanna choked on her own tongue.

She was incredibly beautiful. Her dark skin clear and shiny; her brown eyes soft and warm, framed with long lashes; and even tired, she had the beginnings of a warm smile playing on her berry-pink lips.

For only the second time since third grade, Johanna was lost for words.

“Thanks. You’re awfully nice,” the other (gorgeous!) woman said. 

Johanna found her voice.

“Actually no, I’m not very nice. Righteous maybe, but not nice. There’s a pretty big difference between nice and good, and I like to think that I’m doing good, but I’m not nice, and…and I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

She definitely smiled that time. God, this was worse than even Rosie Li in tenth grade.

“Maybe a little bit. But hey. Since my friends kind of…ditched me, at least I don’t have to be alone while I get the latest Wonder Woman.” She glanced at the abandoned comic on the display case. “Though I see you’re more of a Batgirl type?”

“Yeah, let’s go with that.”

No way was she telling anyone about her secret love for Superman on their first meeting, no matter how cute _anyone_ happened to be.

Johanna scooped up the comic while the other woman stood up straight and headed towards the shelves.

“Oh!” She paused. “My name’s Lilly, by the way. Lilly Alvez.”

“Johanna Proctor.”

Lilly smiled.

The next few minutes seemed to fly by. Johanna didn’t seem to remember them paying for their comics or leaving the shop. All she knew was, the other woman kept up a steady stream of talk and laughter and soon the two of them were out in the street again. Bright sunlight and the clatter of traffic woke her as if from a dream.

“So um…” Johanna combed a hand through her cornrows, searching for words. “Is this goodbye?”

She immediately wanted nothing more than to kick herself.

Lilly hesitated; chewing her lip; her eyes fixated on Johanna’s. 

“Well, it’s Sunday, and I have nothing to do. Normally I’d say that going someplace with someone I barely know would be a stupid idea, but–”

“But you’re feeling adventurous?” Johanna finished, raising an eyebrow. All the tension had seemed to have fallen out of her body.

“I’ve…lived in New York all my life, but I’ve never been to Coney Island before. I’ll feel a lot safer with you if you show me you can ride the Cyclone. Or possibly a lot more scared.”

“The Cyclone? That fucking rickety wooden roller coaster that’s been there since 1927 that everyone’s afraid of?”

Lilly nodded.

“Remind me not to eat beforehand, and you’re on.”

The other woman grinned, and all the blood rushed out of Johanna’s head.

“Something tells me that riding roller coasters with strange women is the _least_ crazy thing you do on a daily basis.”

“Hey, give yourself some credit…”

As they darted across the street, Lilly’s cardigan gaped open for a moment and Johanna caught a glimpse of the Howling Commandoes t-shirt she was wearing. Her mouth fell open for just a second, before she bit back a laugh.

_Is she in for a surprise or what?_

Lilly looked back at her, and her smile only grew wider.

 

* * *

 

_Central Park, Manhattan, 2006_

 

Johanna hunched in on herself as she sat on the bench, blinking back the hot tears in her eyes. The humid air was lukewarm and smelled of exhaust. There was not a single breeze. The city had been enveloped by a rainy summer day of the halfheartedly spitty sort, as if the sky were working its way through a massive pile of pomegranate seeds. 

She wished she could have a thunderstorm instead.

“You alright, lady?”

A homeless guy situated on the opposite park bench peered at her quizzically. He was wearing a grimy green Henley along with jeans that looked like they’d seen their best days before she was born. His gray beard was weeks-old, and his hair was down to his shoulders. And if _he_ was worried about _her_ , then she must’ve looked in worse shape than she thought.

“Not really, but there’s nothing you can do.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth when her phone buzzed in her pocket. A quick check of the caller ID revealed it to be her cousin.

“Evie? What is it?”

“I don’t know what it is, Jo, but Bubbe’s pissed, my mom’s pissed, Miriam called to ask where you were, Nancy and Benji each called twice to ask what was going on, and Reuben Skyped all the way from Tanzania, so I’m guessing it’s something big.”

“Nobody told you?”

“No! It’s like being five years old again, visiting Miriam and Delilah for the first time and nobody will tell me what the word 'lesbian’ means.”

“Oh, the irony.” Johanna snorted. “Speaking of which, it’s actually about me. Remember when I told you I was going to just rip the bandage off and tell my parents about Lilly? And remember how you told me that there shouldn’t be an issue if they really love me?”

Evie’s end of the line was silent for so long Johanna began to wonder if she’d dropped the phone.

“Don’t tell me they don’t approve.”

“Not quite. They’re _afraid_ for me. That’s why they’ve been so weird about gay people after all these years. I don’t know, maybe they’re worried I’ll catch AIDS or get lynched like all the other irresponsible homos out there.” Bitterness had seeped back into her tone. “I’m fucking twenty-three years old in the twenty-first century and they don’t think it’s safe for me to move in with my girlfriend.”

“At least it’s not homophobia. They’re just worried about you–”

“That’s not the point Evie!” she shouted, startling a cloud of pigeons from the pathway. “And your mom always let you do whatever you want, so what would you know about parents being worried about you?”

“This isn’t about me and my mom, Johanna.” Steel had slipped into her cousin’s normally soft tone. “And just because you’re mad at your parents doesn’t mean you can yell at me.”

Another pause.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t stress about it,” Evie sighed. “What exactly did your parents say when you told them?”

Johanna exhaled hard, falling against the back of the bench with a _thump_. Fat drops of moisture stuck to her lashes; and across the way, the homeless guy had curled up inside his jacket and gone back to sleep. 

She recalled the conversation. The introduction, which she thought she’d pulled off with quite a bit of confidence and successfully gained the attention of her parents; her mother from the column she was writing for the Daily Bugle and her father from his stocks. The coming out itself…she might’ve been able to do better. When had hurriedly yelling “So I’m gay, and I’m going to go live with the girlfriend I’ve had for the last two years; and oh by the way, the real reason the Thompsons don’t talk to us any more is because I screwed their daughter,” ever worked to win over parents?

But her father’s reaction had still been wrong.

“Tatti said that…well. He said that he raised me to have more common sense, he didn’t know what had gone wrong, that I was risking my life just by being with a woman, and that if I wasn’t careful, I was going to end up like…like all the other dead gay people.”

That last part was not entirely true.

Down the line, she could hear Evie suck in a breath.

“And…your mom?”

“Mama said that if I had to date Lilly, couldn’t I at least live somewhere else and not make it apparent that we were together. She had the same worries as Tatti, but at least was sort of nicer about it." 

"God, that’s just…”

“I know.”

Another long pause. By now, the water on Johanna’s cheeks was only rain, and her heart beat a rebellious tattoo against her ribs. 

“So…did you tell them that you’d already moved all your stuff over to her place?”

She gave a dry snort.

“Pretty sure they’ll figure it out soon.”

“Damn right. You sure you’re gonna be okay, though?”

“I’ll be fine. I should probably go home now anyway.”

“As long as you’ll be okay. Your girl’s probably expecting you anyway. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The phone clicked off. 

Johanna rose to her feet and reassessed her surroundings. The spitty downpour was beginning to lessen, and a breeze was starting up.

“I’m going home to my girlfriend,” she tried.

The words tasted sweet on her lips, and she burst into a grin.

“That’s the spirit, dear,” the homeless guy murmured sleepily.

 

_Brooklyn Heights_

 

Lilly was sorting through her students’ messy drawings when Johanna burst in the door like a hurricane. She glanced up, her eyes becoming alight.

“Let me guess…the talk didn’t go so well?”

“No.” Johanna flopped down next to her on the couch, blowing a couple braids out of her eyes. “But who cares? I still have you.”

Lilly set down the scribbled papers and took her hand.

“You’ll always have me, Jo. But are you sure your parents…?”

“My father’s exact words: 'You’re making a mistake! You’re going to end up just like your great-uncle – dead in a ditch!’ The gist of it: they think that my living with you is dangerous for me.”

Lilly’s frown deepened.

“What does your great-uncle dying in a war decades ago have to do with your being gay?”

Johanna threw her hands up.

“That’s what I said! But Mama shushed him and he wouldn’t elaborate any more.” She let her head flop against her girlfriend’s shoulder. “What does it matter?”

“I think they may be keeping something from you.”

“Oh, you think?”

“Yeah, I think.” The quick dose of sarcasm matched Johanna’s tone-for-tone. “I’m just not sure what yet.”

The two women sat there in silence for a few moments. Johanna wrapped an arm around Lilly’s waist. With a soft hum, Lilly dropped her head on top of Johanna’s.

Eventually, she broke the silence.

“I mean, I didn’t really think that it’d go well; considering that they’ve been trying to keep me from knowing about gayness since I was little. They didn’t even want me to see Benji or Miriam. But it still kind of sucks that they want me to stay in the closet my whole life just to have their approval. It’s not like it’s the thirties; god.”

Lilly’s lips pursed for just a second, before she smiled wryly.

“Well, on the bright side, my mom has been trying to make you a member of our family since I introduced you, so…”

“Oh god. Does this mean I have no more excuses to not come over for Thanksgiving?”

“Come on; Rowan’s baking isn’t _that_ bad.”

“Has years of it dulled your taste buds?”

Lilly laughed, and the sound of it drew a smile out of Johanna too.

“Seriously though, thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. Together 'till the end, right?”

“Sap.”

She rested her head back against Lilly’s shoulder again. But even as she relaxed, the question niggled at the back of her mind: what wasn’t her family telling her about Bucky Barnes?

 

* * *

 

_Brooklyn Heights, 2009 (the previous night)_

 

_“And now back to our scheduled consultant, Christine Everhart from Vanity Fair. Ms. Everhart, what can you tell us about Linda Schmidt’s new biography?”_

Onscreen, Everhart – a white woman with bottle-blond hair and a too-bright smile with slightly large front teeth – tittered and turned back to the camera.

_“Well John, I can sure say that it’s a fresh perspective on the hero we thought we knew! And just in time for his birthday too. Linda was very kind to share an excerpt, but it might not be what you expect to hear…”_

“Why the hell is CNN paying her for this bullshit?” Johanna grumbled, shaking the last dregs of vodka into her orange juice. “Every July, someone comes out with a new Cap biography and claims it’s a 'fresh perspective’ when all it is is more propaganda. Remember the one from three years ago about capitalism? And the one from last year that implied he beat Peggy Carter when she got too 'uppity?’”

“Well, to be fair, the one from two years ago was quite fun to read,” Lilly said dryly, settling into the couch next to her girlfriend. Her own concoction of gin and apple juice was filled so high it threatened to slosh out the sides. 

“The one with the Nazi dinosaurs?”

“That’s the one. All the other teachers actually ran a betting pool when we got back in August as to what they thought the writer was smoking at the time.”

Johanna snorted into her drink.

Back onscreen, Everhart cleared her throat and started to read.

_“As to the supposed friendship between Captain America and his Howling Commandoes, the historians claim that it was nothing more or less than the bonds of brotherhood.”_

“D'you suppose she’s gonna say that he was sleeping with one of them?”

“On national TV? No way.”

_“However, certain reports say that the truth was far crueler. Rogers resented having to share a platoon with two foreigners, a black man, and a Japanese man–”_

Both women spat out their drinks in unison.

_“–and made frequent complaints to the SSR about this, hoping that he would get switched to another unit. However, low on funds, the SSR couldn’t agree to his request.”_

“What fresh hell is this?” Lilly shrieked, sloshing gin on the carpet in her rage.

“Drink up baby, it’s only gonna get worse,” Johanna said grimly.

_“Speculation about why Rogers hated his men ranges widely; from that he resented his immigrant mother for bearing him into poverty, or that he knew friends in Hawaii when Pearl Harbor was bombed, or even that, poor as he was at the time, he may have benefitted from the systems that civil rights activists fought against–”_

At that point, both women were shouting so much that everything else she said was drowned out. The only thing noticeable about the TV was the wide-eyed looks of the news anchors after Everhart was done talking.

“Then why the hell would Cap associate with a family that blessed their kids’ _marriages_ to black and Japanese people?” Johanna yelled at the screen. “What the hell were my mom and Uncle Bill and Aunt Leah’s family, then?”

“And why would he hate his own mother just for being an immigrant?” Lilly cried. “It’s not like she could help it! I mean, she kinda could; but it’s not like conditions were any better over in Ireland.”

“Change the channel, or I’m gonna bust the screen.”

Lilly’s hands trembling, she scooped up the remote and switched CNN off. 

Unfortunately, she hit the wrong button and accidentally turned _on_ Fox News.

_“–and as the new Captain America biography comes out–”_

“And _wow_. Talk about ironic phrasing.”

“Really, Jo?”

_“–we all look forward to reading Miss Schmidt’s new work. As she gathers information from reputable sources, we hope that this biography will dispel some of the illusions about the Captain, mainly that someone who fought for our freedom would stand for–”_

“Basic human rights?” Lilly said quietly. 

“Yeah, that’s enough.”

Johanna hit the OFF button on the remote, and the TV screen switched to black; the two women’s expressions of frustration reflected on it.

“To be honest, I still don’t know why we do this every year.”

“Yeah, well.” Johanna knocked back another swallow of vodka and orange juice. “I like to stay up-to-date on people’s bigotry. That way, I always know exactly what I’m up against.”

Lilly’s smile looked a little hollow.

“No wonder people think you’re just angry all the time.”

“Anger’s easier to deal with than sadness. And more productive.”

She stared intently at the TV, still seeing Christine Everhart’s eyes; alight with the glee of shocking people for ratings. Her whole life, she’d been protesting inequality where she saw it; but no one took her seriously. Her anger was easy to turn against her; make her look hysterical or out of control while any of her other emotions were completely ignored.

_I suppose it’s just easier to have your feelings be taken seriously when you’re a white man._

At this point, Lilly knew better than to argue with her. Neither woman was ever going to tackle injustice the same way, but neither would they decry the other for it.

Instead, she got to her feet and kissed Johanna’s forehead. 

“I’m going to bed. I think I’ve had enough of this for one year, but you can stay up if you want.”

“Considerate as always.”

“Yeah, I think I’d make a good wife; the irony of which is not lost on me.”

“Well, if you lived in Vermont…”

“Not worth it.”

Johanna feigned offense.

“How dare you? The over-abundance of snow, maple syrup, and heroin would totally be worth being married to me.”

Lilly genuinely laughed this time.

“We’re practically married already. Besides, you may resent me for making you an honest woman.”

“Living in sin sure isn’t as bad as people make it out to be.” She playfully slapped her girlfriend’s backside. “That being said, get yourself to bed, little woman; before you stress your pretty little head worrying any more.”

“You would definitely make a good shiftless husband.”

“Heteronormative, much?”

But once Lilly had left, Johanna found herself settling back in to brood. She stirred what was left of her drink with the tip of her finger, staring at the blank screen of the TV.

Her thoughts swirled as her brain processed the vodka.

 _Nobody agrees on who Cap really was or how he felt about anything…I mean, we all know he did cool shit but who the hell knows anything beyond that?…Grandma and her sisters might’ve…Dad never wanted me to know anything about their brother…what was up with_ him _while I’m at it?…none of these stupid biographies or the bigots who write them really knows anything about Steve Rogers or Bucky Barnes…_

Several moments passed while that thought brewed in her head.

Then an idea, no doubt born of the vodka that she’d just drunk, sprang into existence like Athena from Zeus’ head.

Which she almost refused to acknowledge for its sheer _craziness_.

She had a job…she had too much to do…she had no idea how to make it happen…it would take too long…it would cost a lot of money…and who would even help her carry it out?

All in all, it was silly and unrealistic; and the only reason she was even considering it was to dig for a possibly indiscernible truth that might make a lot of people angry.

Actually, now that she was framing it like _that_ …

She knocked back the rest of her drink and started digging around for a pen and some paper.

 

* * *

 

_Brooklyn Heights, 2009 (the current day)_

 

For a long moment, Lilly just stared at her wide-eyed; lips frozen on the rim of her mug. She didn’t seem aware that a little bit of coffee was getting on her chin, or that Chewie had climbed into her lap to try and lick at it.

For that moment, Johanna stayed suspended in terror; terror that the woman she loved would confirm her fears and tell her that her proposal was stupid and unrealistic and that she should just give it up.

Then Lilly sat down that ridiculous mug with Stark’s metal face on it, wiped her face with a napkin, and said:

“I’m with you.”

Johanna thought she’d misheard.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said I’m with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, dumbass.” Lilly finished her coffee and set the mug aside. Chewie jumped on the table and promptly stuck his face in it. “You’re right, it _is_ crazy and difficult and possibly unrealistic–”

“Thanks, honey.”

“–but it’s a worthy idea to be explored; and I told you years ago, I’m with you no matter what.” Her eyes seemed to shine. “So…yeah. I’ll help you out with your idea, whatever you need. No matter the difficulties, no matter what anyone says, no matter if my students try to murder me first.”

“Your students are five years old.”

“Don’t harsh my dramatic moment, Johanna.”

Johanna snorted inelegantly. Then she closed the space between them; bending down and wrapping her in a tight embrace.

The two women were pressed so closely that Johanna could smell sleep, vanilla shampoo from the previous night, and the coffee on Lilly’s breath; her heartbeat pulsing against her skin. She clutched her as close as possibly; fingers twisting through the fluffy bathrobe; trying to express her gratitude in a single hug.

When they broke apart, Lilly was smiling again. 

“So…when do you plan to start writing?”

Johanna looked down at her notes and grinned.

“As soon as I can start researching. Believe me, this is going to be the _best_ and most accurate Steve Rogers biography America has ever been hit with.”

“Damn right.”

The sun finished its ascent up into the sky, and the rest of New York began to awaken.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [crawls out of my hole clutching this chapter] I’M NOT DEAD Y’ALL! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
> 
> Mild warning for drug use and smoking, I suppose? But the drug use is for medicinal purposes (fun historical fact: joints used to be prescribed to asthmatics to help steady their breathing and open their lungs. More recently, it’s been proven that cannabis actually does open the bronchi, which reverses the effects of the asthma. But I wouldn’t recommend getting baked to fix your breathing issues nonetheless).
> 
> And I may have fudged a *little* bit of the timeline here: Superman didn’t come out (phrasing!) until the mid 1930s, and Batman and Wonder Woman didn’t come out (phrasing!) until the early 1940s. But still…in-universe fictional superheroes.

_“Most likely as a result of his less-than-fortunate position in life, Rogers quickly learned how to stand up for himself against the privileged. Even in his youth, he was swift to challenge judgements about his Irish immigrant heritage, his poverty, his health issues. Therefore it should’ve come as no surprise that, upon realizing that others in the world suffered even worse than him, he extended the same defenses to them. Women, immigrants, non-Christians, people of color, LGBT+ individuals, and those who were a combination of the above – even as a child he treated them all as equals, and sought to make the rest of the world do the same. Even if he couldn’t protect them, he made certain that he would avenge them […]Although critics might complain that his relationship with Bucky Barnes was clear proof that Rogers only sought friendship in people like him, it was actually upon encountering his famous companion that Rogers, still only a child, was led to befriending and helping the underprivileged…”_

–from Chapter 1 of _The Man Behind The Shield_

 

* * *

 

_Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz Law Firm, Manhattan_

“Proctor! Meeting in ten minutes. Hogarth wants to talk to everyone on the floor.”

Johanna nodded as the other woman scurried off to the meeting room; paperwork falling out of her arms like raindrops.

She bent back over her computer, typing in the last lines of her email before hitting SEND.

Then she got to her feet, sweeping up a notepad and pen from her desk while almost jostling several framed photographs and a bowl of chocolate truffles. She pushed her chair back with such force that it screeched against the marble floor; before marching out of her office with her chin in the air and her pumps clacking against the floor.

Already waiting at the meeting room, Jeri Hogarth looked about as warm and friendly as she usually did; glowering at her employees as they filed into the room. Hogarth had her dark hair clipped close to her skull, her equally dark navy dress plain and unadorned. She didn’t even wait for everyone to enter the room before she started talking.

“Now, there are some of you are behind on cases, and then there are some of you haven’t entered a courtroom in months. Don’t think that just because you have a billionaire in a tin can flying around that all the crime is going to disappear overnight; and you’re all still going to have to defend the people said tin can misses…”

As Hogarth kept talking, Johanna’s mind drifted back to her conversation with Lilly earlier that morning. Almost unconsciously, she took out the notepad and pressed the tip of her pen against the paper.

“–and I hope that some of you will start taking those cases soon, because otherwise…Proctor?”

Johanna’s head snapped up, her cheeks heating.

“Proctor, it’s not like you to not pay attention in meetings.”

She swallowed down a surge of embarrassment.

“Sorry Ms. Hogarth; just writing down what you said for later.”

Hogarth narrowed her eyes.

“Let’s hope so, because I need you on a slander lawsuit, _not_ daydreaming right now.”

Johanna bit back a retort.

“Fine.”

She bent back over her notepad; teeth pressed tightly together. Her pen pressed firmly into the paper, almost ripping it with the force of her writing:

_Tell me about the day you first met him._

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Bubbe? It’s me.”

“Johanna? What are you doing? Aren’t you at work?”

“I’m on lunch break.”

“Well, that changes things. Let me tell you, your calls are a blessing; Rachel’s almost never around to talk to–”

“That’s uh, actually why I called. Can I come over after work? There’s a lot that you and I need to talk about.”

“You sound awfully solemn all of a sudden. Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem. But it’s just going to take a while. Is that okay?”

“Please. Time passes slowly at my age, especially in this neighborhood. Anything that you have to say that’ll kill some hours is okay with me.”

“Yeah, you say that now…”

 

* * *

 

_Park Slope, Brooklyn_

Aunt Rachel’s apartment building was, irritatingly enough, located right next to Prospect Park; overlooking a herd of joggers and young moms with strollers. The sun was tipping low over the trees, and the heat was just beginning to fade out of the summer air.

Johanna brushed past some college kids on bikes and danced around a pack of kindergarteners before she darted up to the front of the building and rang the doorbell.

Rachel answered almost immediately.

“I take it it’s you?”

“Yeah.”  
“Well, come in, I suppose. Your grandmother’s expecting you.”

Once inside the apartment, she was greeted by a shock of color. The walls were chalky turquoise, the floor blanketed with creamy white tiles, and the table where Becca was sitting at was covered with a golden yellow cloth embroidered with flowers.

Rachel herself was a short woman with her dark brown hair down to her waist, and dark eyes outlined with emerald makeup. Her flowing dress was as pink as flamingo feathers.

“You’re just in time,” she remarked, shutting the door behind Johanna. 

“You say that _every_ time I get here.”

“And you always are, as I predicted. Anyway, Mom’s curious as to what was so urgent that you need to talk to her about.” She peered at the notepad, voice recorder, and pen that Johanna clutched alongside her purse. “So am I now, as a matter of fact.”

“You couldn’t have _predicted_ what I wanted to talk about?”

Rachel took on a haughty expression that might not have been appropriate for someone trying to be one with the universe.

“You may mock me, Johanna, but as I’ve explained to you multiple times, divination is a very specific art, and–”

“Rachel!” Becca called from the table. “Am I going to be able to talk to my granddaughter any time today, or what?”

“What,” Johanna said helpfully.

“Oh for the love of–”

Johanna ducked under her aunt’s arm and darted over to the table. 

As always, Becca had styled her silver-white hair into curls; but was dressed casually in a hand-sewn floral blouse and faded jeans. The old woman rested her chin on the back of her hand, her gray-blue gaze as sharp as ever.

“So what do you want to know?”

“Pardon?”

“I’m guessing you want to ask something of me.”

“Yeah. Something long, and something important. It’s why I needed to talk to you in person, instead of over the phone like usual.”

Johanna had planned to dish out her plan slow and one step at a time like a normal person; but instead the whole story came spilling out in less than a minute .

When she was done, the apartment remained quiet for a few moments.

That is, until Rachel spoke up.

“Mom, are any of the people she could talk to even still alive?”

“Well…” Becca’s piercing gaze remained on Johanna instead of her daughter. “Miriam is, of course. So are Izzy and Lucy and most of the Howling Commandoes…and I think Minnie and Jason too…and me of course,” she finished with a great deal of relish.

Johanna glanced up and exhaled.

“So…does that mean you don’t mind being interviewed?”

“Of course not. After all, it’s not every day that people come up to old ladies and ask them to wax poetic about the good ole days.” Becca’s eyes sparked. “‘Sides, it’s not too strange for women in our family to be writing books. Judith had all her feminist prose, all the way back in the seventies. Leah–” Here she bowed her head, like she was still sitting shiva for her sister, “–anyway, Leah used to write pulp science fiction to bring in extra income. And of course, Rachel–”

“Does that even count?”

“Wanting to look into the future – or even your own surroundings – is a very lucrative desire!” Rachel snapped. “Well, lucrative for me, that is,” she amended. “How do you think I can afford to live in this neighborhood?”

“Are you familiar with the saying 'there’s a sucker born every minute?’”

Rachel opened her mouth again, presumably to further the argument, but Becca intervened.

“Rachel, do you think you could make me a cup of that chai tea that your friend blended? I thought it was excellent.”

For the moment, her daughter appeared mollified.

“Sure, Mom. And I’ll tell Crystal that you like it.”

She bustled off to the kitchen.

Once she’d left, Becca turned back to face her granddaughter. 

“So, Johanna. What do you want to know about Steve?”

Wordlessly, Johanna set up the recording device to face her grandmother and set down the notepad.

Then she took a deep breath.

“Do you think you could start with the day you met him?”

The old woman’s eyes began to unfocus, and a slow smile spread across her face. 

“Of course. I was only a little girl at the time, but there’s no way I could ever forget that day…”

 

* * *

 

_Fulton Landing, Brooklyn, 1925_

It was a late summer evening in New York. The flappers were just putting on their nylons and makeup while the young folks took out bottles of bootlegged alcohol to sneak into clubs and parties. The fathers were returning from work, the children were reluctantly trailing inside for dinner, and the mothers were silently rejoicing that school would be starting soon. While all that was going on, the only thing that Becca Barnes could focus on was that it was way too hot outside, and that her brother should have been home by now.

She headed out onto the apartment’s balcony and stared out at the neighborhood, scuffing her miniature shoes against the dirty concrete.   
The sun was going down over the gray-and-brown skyline, making the whole city look rusty instead of just her neighborhood. Two floors down, Mrs. Kingsley was airing out her laundry. Three windows to the right, old Mr. Perlstein blew smoke rings from his pipe out onto the street. Directly across from the Barnes’ apartment, Mary O'Neal had the window open as she put makeup on in her lingerie. 

Becca ignored them all, choosing to focus on the street beneath her. She knew full well, from tagging along on many shopping trips with her mother, that that road led right to both the grocery store and the bakery. It was only a five minute walk, short enough so that not even a child had any room to complain about the trip. 

Bucky had left almost twenty minutes ago to pick up a loaf of bread. But he still hadn’t come back.

“Rebecca! How many times have I told you not to lean against the railing? It’s so rusted, you’re lucky you haven’t gone down into the street yet.”

Becca jumped away from the landing like it it was made of vipers, then wheeled around to come face-to-face with her mother.

Winifred Barnes was not a physically imposing woman. But Becca wisely shied away from her irritated mother; and worse, the long wooden spoon that her mother was wielding in one hand. 

“Have you seen your sisters?” Winifred asked, blowing strands of curly dark hair out of her eyes. “Leah’s not in her room, and it looks like Miriam crawled out of her crib again.” Much to Becca’s relief, she tucked the spoon back into her apron pocket. “And has your brother come back yet?”

“No,” Becca said anxiously, glancing back over her shoulder at the street.  
Winifred sighed, folding her arms across her chest. She followed her daughter’s gaze.

“It’s not like him to be so late. Or even, be late at all. I hope he didn’t get sidetracked by the neighbor kids again.”

Winifred turned and headed back into the apartment. For a moment, Becca considered following…before she decided that she’d better stay and keep an eye out for Bucky. 

With a quick peek over her shoulder to make sure her mother wasn’t watching, she rested her hands back against the railing to balance herself and draped her entire upper body over the side to get a better look. 

Mrs. Kingsley looked up from her laundry and sniffed loudly.

“Crazy little brat.”

Becca blew a raspberry at her, ignoring the older woman’s gasp of indignation. Then she leaned back over the railing with such force that her pigtails swayed in the still summer air.

From six floors up, every dark-haired boy passing by could be her brother at first. That one – no, he was wearing tan trousers instead of blue ones. Or that – no, he was too old. Or perhaps that one – no, he had a basket full of groceries instead of the paper bags Bucky used.

There was a different one coming down the street who could be Bucky; with the right clothes and age and bag and all. But her brother was a well-behaved boy, and this one had blood all down his front. Not to mention he was accompanied with an unfamiliar tiny blond boy, also covered in blood. Bucky would never…

Wait. That _was_ Bucky.

Becca’s mouth fell open.

“You gon’ get in _trouble_ ,” warbled her sister’s voice from behind.

“Only if you tell Ma,” Becca retorted, not even bothering to look back at Leah. 

“Becca gon’ fall?” queried her other sister’s voice.

“Nah, Miriam, I’ve done it a million times. See?”

She hooked her feet around the base of the railing and let go completely, her torso dangling freely over the side. 

Then the base creaked threateningly; and she quickly disentangled herself and leapt back onto the balcony.

Miriam stuck a tiny yet dubious fist in her mouth and chewed on it. Leah tilted her head back and stared up in a way that didn’t quite suit a four-year-old.

“What were you doin’ up there, Beck?”

“Lookin’ for Bucky. And you wouldn’t believe the mess he’s in. Looks like he was in a fight, or somethin’.”

“ _Bucky?_ I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it, sis.”

As if on cue, their mother’s yell of indignation quickly filled the apartment. Several neighbors opened their windows and peered eagerly over at the Barneses’, hoping to catch a hint of the familial drama. 

“James Buchanan Barnes! What the _hell_ have you been doing!? You look like you’ve been bare-fist boxing in a butcher’s shop!”

“Told you so,” Becca murmured.

The three little girls stuck their heads around the side of the wall and looked over at the front door.

Sure enough, their brother stood there in all his lanky, scuffed-shoed, eight-year-old glory; with a mess of blood all over his formerly white shirt. On top of that, his knuckles were scraped, his lip was split, and a black eye was starting to form. 

Standing behind him was a skinny boy who looked about six in even worse shape. His blond hair was matted with dirt, his nose was clearly broken, and there was almost as much blood on his face as there was down his front.

“Holy Moses,” Becca whispered in a clear imitation of their mother. “It looks even worse from here.”

“They musta been in a big fight,” Leah agreed.

“I had to, Ma! There were some big boys, and they were beatin’ up on him–” Here he gestured to the blond kid, “–and I couldn’t just–”

“I didn’t need his help,” the blond kid interjected. “I coulda handled it fine on my own.”

“That’s not what it looked like to me,” Bucky retorted.

“Aw, shove it up your–”

“You know the rules about fighting in this household, James,” Winifred interrupted. “And for the life of me, I can’t understand what possessed you to do this.”

“That’s what I said,” the blond kid agreed.

“You know, a simple 'thank you’ would suffice.”

“And if I see anyone I need to thank, I will.”

“You little–”

“JAMES!”

“Sorry, Ma.”

“And you…” She turned to the blond kid. Becca was impressed to see that he didn’t flinch. “First of all, what’s your name and where’s your mother? Surely she wouldn’t approve of her son getting into fights either.”

“Steve. Steve Rogers, ma'am. My ma’s still at the hospital; she’s gotta work late on Fridays.”

For the first time, Winifred looked taken aback.

“The hospital?”

“She’s a nurse.”

“Doesn’t your father work?”

“He’s dead. Died in the war.”

“Oh.” Winifred visibly softened. Bucky stared at his new companion in disbelief.  

“You didn’t tell me that.”

Steve shrugged. 

“We didn’t have a lot of time to talk, what with the fighting and the short walk and all. Anyhow, Ma’s always gotta work late on Friday so we can have the day off on Sunday.”

“Who feeds you, then?” Winifred demanded.

He shrugged again. 

While their mother was digesting this, Bucky spoke up again.

“Ma, can you fix Steve up? His face kinda got busted when we were…you know.”

“Yes, and don’t think you’re out of the woods for that yet, James Barnes,” she retorted, regaining herself. Then she looked back over at Steve. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Steve hesitated.

“Can I be back home by eight-thirty?”

“Where do you live?”

He gestured sweepingly with one hand.

“'Bout two blocks over.”

“Then yes.”

She steered him over to the bathroom with one hand, determined to get him cleaned up.

When she was gone, Becca darted out and all but tackled her brother. 

“Ow! Jeez, Becks.”

“Don’t scare me like that again!” she exclaimed. “What if you never came back?”

He knelt down till his eyes – identical to hers – were level with hers.

“Becks, it’s okay. I just was late coming back from the bakery, is all.”

“You were almost _half an hour_ late.” She would’ve hugged him, but his shirtfront was still a bloody mess. Literally. “Don’t do that again, okay? Promise.”

Bucky chuckled a little, before standing up straight and putting his hand on his heart.

“I, James Buchanan Barnes, do solemnly swear that no matter what troubles I must face for Steve Rogers, I will always come back to my little sisters.” He relaxed. “Happy?”

She considered.

“Very.”

He grinned, rumpling her hair; her pigtails now an indistinguishable mess. She squealed in mock indignation, batting his hand away as he laughed.

 

* * *

 

“But he didn’t come back.”

Johanna paused the recorder.

“Sorry?”

Becca’s blue-gray eyes had grown moist with tears. She gazed at the tablecloth like it held all the answers to the world in its fabric.

“My brother didn’t come back to me. He was taken from us just for the sake of that godforsaken war.”

“But that wasn’t his fault,” Johanna said as gently as she could, taking her grandmother’s hand. “He was drafted, right?”

“Yes, he was drafted, Johanna. But he could’ve returned on an honorable discharge after he was captured; did you know that?”

She did not, and it must’ve shown on her face.

“He stayed because the government wanted Steve to stay. He loved him too much to let him fight the Nazis and that cult Hydra on his own.”

Johanna didn’t know what to say, and she hated it. Her indomitable grandmother looked so distraught, and she was powerless to stop it.

Could she change history? No. She was just here to get it down.

 _Even if you could, would you?_ whispered a little voice in her head. _If it were Lilly who had to stay and fight in a war, there’s no way you’d let her do it on her own._

_But Steve and Bucky weren’t like me and Lilly…were they?_

“Mom, I made the tea.”

Both old and young women were startled out of their thoughts.

Looking slightly awkward, Rachel stood before them with a flower-patterned ceramic teapot and two mugs in hand. 

“Thanks, Rachel,” Becca replied. “I’ll take the yellow mug, if you don’t mind.”

Her daughter nodded, pouring the tea into both mugs and sliding it across the table to each of them. Then she set down the teapot and left the room.

Johanna lifted her own mug (green) and took a swallow. It wasn’t actually too bad.

“We don’t have to finish today, if you don’t want,” she suggested. “If it’s too much for you…”

“No, I can do it.” Becca dried her eyes on her sleeve. “You can start that little machine up again.”

Suppressing a smile, Johanna hit the PLAY button.

“So what else do you want to tell me about Steve as a child?”

“Well, let me tell you about the first time I saw him in action…”

 

* * *

 

_Fulton Landing, 1925_

It took two days after Steve Rogers had landed in her family’s house and eaten her mother’s kugel for Becca to see him again.

Miriam, unfortunately still too young to be out of diapers, had come down with a stomach bug. Leah was forbidden from going outside as long as she kept trying to sneak stray cats back into the house. Because of this, both sisters had been whining all morning; so Becca and Bucky quickly made their excuses before dashing down the hall to the next apartment over. 

Lucy Smith, already taller than Bucky despite the fact that she was only seven, opened the door with a smile.

Lucy was as pretty as always; carefully kept black curls falling gently to her shoulders, huge calf-brown eyes lit up with joy, soft skin almost glowing with health and her mother’s lotion. Her pale pink dress was so lovely, laced with lilac ribbons and shining in the dim hallway light, it took Becca’s breath away. She’d always privately wished for Clara’s skill with a needle.

Five minutes with the Barneses was sure to mess that all up though.

“I thought you’d never come again. Has it been forever or what?”

“It’s only been two weeks, Luce,” Becca giggled.

“Feels like forever.” The other girl paused. “You want to go down to the waterfront? Mama and Daddy said it was okay as long as I was back for dinner.”

“Sure!" 

"As long as we can play superheroes again,” Bucky said, as if he had any choice in the matter.

“Obviously,” Becca said, rolling her eyes at her older brother. He stuck his tongue out at her, and she made a face.

Lucy quickly brushed some invisible dust off her dress, before looking over her shoulder and calling, “Mama, I’m going out!”

Clara Smith’s reply was muffled, but Becca was pretty sure it was, “Don’t let them in!”

Lucy shut the door behind her and regarded her friends. Her familiar shy smile played around her lips, as if she still couldn’t quite believe they were willing to do this with her.

“Can I be Wonder Woman again?” she asked.

“Fine,” Becca pouted. “But I get to be Superman. Bucky, he’s Batman.”

“Why am I Batman?” he protested. “I want to be Wonder Woman.”

“Because you’re a big dork, like any fella who dresses up like a bat.”

Bucky pretended to swipe at his sister while Lucy laughed.

 

* * *

 

_Beneath Manhattan Bridge_

The East River chugged by the street lazily as a few cars wove by and the three children skirted the waterfront, running after each other breathless with glee.

“Surrender, villain!” Becca commanded of a fire hydrant. “Or I will be forced to melt you with my laser eyes!”

“She’ll do it,” Bucky chimed in in a tone several octaves deeper than his own. He’d tugged his jacket around his shoulders like a cape, and appeared to be under the impression that he could make it sound like his voice had already changed. “She’s crazy! Crazy in her pursuit of justice, anyway.”

“And if she doesn’t do it, I will,” Lucy agreed, twirling a bit of old rope she’d found. “We can’t let you keep up this bad behavior. We have to protect New York!”

She’d managed to knot the old rope into an actual noose and twirled it quite convincingly; as if it really were the Lasso of Truth.

Wonder Woman had always been Lucy’s favorite. Even though the two of them looked nothing alike.

“So, do you surrender?” Bucky rasped. 

The fire hydrant did not reply.

“That’s too bad!” Becca yelled. “Because now we have to destroy you! Say your prayers, cause I’m about to go all laser eyes on you!”

 

* * *

 

Johanna had to stop the tape; she was laughing too hard.

“You sure were something when you were a kid, Bubbe.”

“That’s what my mother’s houseguests used to say when they were trying to be polite,” Becca smirked. “'Your children sure are something, Winnie.’”

“When they should have been saying 'troublemaking little assholes?’”

“Exactly.”

Both of them shared another laugh over that before Johanna started up the recorder again.

 

* * *

 

Becca glowered at the hydrant hard enough that she could _almost_ see it melting while Lucy looped it with her rope and Bucky flung sticks in lieu of batarangs. “Die, villain!” was shouted fairly frequently.

The noise level got to such that passerby kept stopping to glare pointedly, which all three kids ignored. 

“I think he’s been killed enough,” Bucky noted after a few minutes. 

“Hmmm…” Lucy slacked her rope a bit as she crept up on the beleaguered hydrant. She carefully prodded it with her toe, before giving it one last tap with Bucky’s stick. “Yeah, he’s pretty dead.”

“You sure we can’t kill him one last time to be safe?” Becca asked loudly.

“Pretty sure.”

“Aww.”

Lucy happily whipped her rope off the hydrant, looping it neatly before she tossed it off somewhere to the side. 

“D'ya think we should get some ice cream?”

“Why?”

“Cause we won the fight. We deserve some ice cream.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky grinned. “I’ve gotta nickel right here–” he tapped his pockets for emphasis “–and old Mrs. O'Reilly always shops at a grocery place a little bit aways from here.”

“As long it’s got ice cream, it’s good enough for me,” Becca decided. 

The kids barely had to walk thirty feet down the dirty, river-water-damp sidewalk before the grocery store came into view. It was startlingly clean and well-kept; with electric lights glowing from the inside, and rainbow rows of fresh fruit on display in the polished windows. A sign hung on one window next to the door; long, confusing, and unimportant to a six-year-old’s eyes:

_We Reserve The Right To Refuse Service To Anyone._

But it seemed to mean something to Lucy. Upon seeing it, her eyes grew wide and she took a step back from the door. 

“Bucky? Becca?” Her voice seemed even smaller than usual. “Maybe we should go back and get ice cream at Perlstein’s instead.”

“But we just got here,” Becca protested. “I don’t wanna walk all the way back.”

“But…” Lucy’s eyes flickered. “We know Perlstein’s. Here, we don’t know if the food’s gonna be any good, or what kinda people are gonna be here.”

“Food looks fine to me–” Becca started, but her brother cut her off. 

“S'okay, Luce. We’ll be quick. And if there’re any shifty fellas in there, we’ll leave; cross my heart.”

Lucy nodded, her eyes still flicking back to the sign.

Idly wondering what about something so silly gave her friend the heebie-jeebies, Becca darted forward and pushed the door handle.

It flew open with a pleasant jangle, and she promptly came nose-to hip with a woman in a faded blue dress.

“ _Magarlach!_ ” Struggling to keep her shopping basket upright, the woman backed away and tucked a few strands of wispy honey-blond hair behind her ear. “Oh, I’m sorry, child. I didn’t see you there." 

She was old to Becca; at least as old as her ma. Her voice had a soft lilt to it that sounded a bit like her tatti’s. There was also something vaguely familiar about the shape of her blue eyes…

"Ma!” came a boy’s voice abruptly from behind the blond woman. Bucky’s eyes grew wide. “D'you want me to get some milk?”

“No, it’s alright, Steve; we can go without a few more days.”

“Steve?” Becca blurted. 

“Who’s Steve?” Lucy inquired.  

“Steve!”

Bucky darted around the blonde woman and towards the dairy aisle. He emerged a moment later with his arm around that skinny blond kid from two days before. Both boys were grinning.

“This must be the famous Bucky Barnes,” the blond woman smiled.

“Oh, and you must be that kid Bucky met the other day,” Lucy exclaimed. She tilted her head to the side, taking him in. “You don’t _look_ like an 'angry little punk.’”

“Luce…” Bucky groaned while Steve looked at him incredulously. Lucy only smiled with faux innocence.

The blonde woman – who Becca just realized had to be Steve’s mother – was clearly suppressing a grin of her own.

“He’s already got you figured out quite well, Steven.”

“No he doesn’t,” Steve grumbled. “He’s just a jerk.”

“But you like him,” Becca chimed in.

“I’m not admittin’ nothin’.”

Mrs. Rogers actually chuckled at that. 

“Fair enough. Let’s get our groceries and take these children back home.”

“I’ll just go home on my own, ma'am,” Lucy interjected.

“Nonsense, child,” Mrs. Rogers said gently. “You’re as welcome with us as the Barneses are.”

Lucy blushed.

As the Rogerses and Bucky headed over to the checkout, Lucy and Becca wandered about the store, waiting for them to be done.

“Y'know, I’ve never had steak before,” Lucy remarked as they made their way past the meat section. “Can you imagine being able to afford it every day?”

“I wouldn’t mind eatin’ something other than potatoes, challah, and chicken,” Becca sighed. 

“My mom makes a good pork chop. You ever had pork?”

“Ma says we can’t eat pork.”

“Why not?”

Becca was about to give her standard “because we’re Jews” remark that even she didn’t really understand, when a long shadow fell over the two girls. Cold prickled across Becca’s back when she realized what it was; the kind of menace that no fairy tale could make up: bigger kids.

The two girls wheeled around to come face-to-face with a boy of about sixteen, pimply and glowering with his hair falling in his eyes.

“What’re you doing in here?” he snarled.

“Gettin’ food–” Becca started.

“Not you.” He wheeled on Lucy, who involuntarily took a step back. Her eyes were as big as saucers. “ _You_. What d'you think you’re doing here?”

“I wasn’t doing harm,” she mumbled.

“You aren’t supposed to be here. Get out, or my dad’s gonna make you.”

“Leave her alone!” Becca tried to make her voice sound heroic, but it came out as more of a squeak. 

The boy turned to her.

“You shouldn’t be hanging out with that sort, girl. Get her out of here. Then take my advice and find someone better.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Hey!”

All three kids turned around. 

Standing between the rows of canned fruits, Steve was drawn up to his full height of three feet eight inches; hands clenched into fists. He marched right up to the bigger boy and craned his neck back to look him in the eye.

“Leave 'em alone.”

“Mind your own business, shrimp.” The bigger boy tried to shove Steve away, who only ducked.

“This _is_ my business. That’s my friend’s sister and her friend, and they’re just little kids who weren’t doing nothing.”

Becca contemplated getting mad over the “little kids” remark, before deciding to wait to do that later.

“She–” The teenager gestured sharply at Lucy, who flinched, “–can’t be here. Didn’t ya read the sign, kid? 'We Reserve The Right To Refuse Service To Anyone.’ _Anyone_. Especially Negroes.”

“That ain’t right,” Steve insisted. He lifted his fists and chin in a challenge.

“'Course it’s right. Even the law says Negroes and whites can’t mix.”

“The law’s wrong!”

The older kid was beginning to clench his own hands as Lucy tensed beside her, and Becca was beginning to wonder if she should go help–

“We don’t gotta fight.”

“Of course we don’t. Just let Lucy stay.”

“You little–”

“ _What is going on here?_ ”

All four kids jumped. 

Stomping over from behind the dairy aisle was a man the size of a small moon, with exactly four dark hairs combed over his bald pate and beady little eyes like a weasel’s. He had the same fleshy nose as the kid looming over Steve. 

“Dad,” the teenager crowed triumphantly, “they’re not letting that Negro child leave.”

Lucy made a brave attempt at a glare, but was quickly quailed by the giant man marching towards her.

“I did nothing wrong,” she said softly. 

“Like hell you did,” he boomed. “You’re breaking the law, and you’re invading the space of good decent people, and if you don’t get out of my shop this minute I’ll–”

But they never learned what he would do, as right that moment Steve darted up and kicked him in the back of the leg.

It was, of course, futile, resembling more a sparrow pecking a rhinoceros than anything else. But it served the purpose of distracting the shop-owner from Lucy.

He caught Steve around the neck like a naughty kitten, before lifting him up to bellow in his face:

“And my family doesn’t need any of _your_ kind in here either; so help me, if I have to throw the lot of you out I will!" 

"You tell 'im, Dad!”

Becca still didn’t understand why the shop-owner was so concerned with getting rid of Lucy any more than she knew what he meant by “your kind.” But that didn’t stop her from hopping up and down like an angry grasshopper screeching “Put him down!” while Lucy held fast to her hand.

That moment was the one that Mrs. Rogers chose to go seek them out, grocery bags on her hip and Bucky at her side.

“Children, we’re ready to…” She froze in place, blue eyes growing wide just before they narrowed. “Sir, if you don’t mind, please tell me what you hope to accomplish by manhandling my son.”

Her voice was as quiet and soft as before; but in that moment, Becca could’ve sworn that the temperature in the store went down by five degrees. She stopped jumping, Lucy stood up straight, Bucky took a step back. Even the teenaged boy looked abashed. 

The shop-owner, however, was not cowed.

He dropped Steve on the floor like a sack of potatoes before marching right up in Mrs. Rogers’ face.

“If you don’t get your insubordinate narrow-back brat and that little crow out of my shop, then I will throw both of them out by their necks and call the cops on you; _Sarah_. And don’t ever bother coming back!”

“Like I’d ever want to.” Mrs. Rogers’ voice was as cool as water. “Children, come on. Let’s go home.”

Becca ran over and latched onto her brother with her other hand; while he held both her and Lucy in his arms. Steve picked himself off the ground with a cough. He threw the shop-owner and his son a hand gesture that Becca’s ma would’ve slapped her for, before darting out behind his mother and the other kids.

“What a couple of jerks!” Becca blurted once they were safely out on the street. “Can you believe them? Who could say stuff like that?”

“Almost everyone,” Lucy murmured, so softly that Becca almost didn’t hear her. “Almost everyone says stuff like that.”

Bucky frowned.

“Not _everyone_.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Lucy amended. “Not almost everyone. Just almost everyone that looks like you. I think…I think it’s why my mama doesn’t like me being friends with you.”

Becca was taken aback. All this time she’d just thought Mrs. Smith was just kind of grumpy. Could people really be that mean to Lucy all the time? And how had she never noticed it before?

“It ain’t right,” Steve insisted again, clutching his mother’s hand. “And it ain’t fair. You’re people too, we should all be able to be in grocery stores together.”

Lucy smiled weakly.

“It’s okay, Steve. I’m used to it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to be!” he cried.

“I agree with you, Steven,” Mrs. Rogers spoke up. “That’s why you should be an exception.” She gazed down the street, watching Mr. Murphy and his sons head off to the pub for lunch. “Be good to that girl and her like. Just bloodying your nose for them ain’t gonna do much if you’re not kind as well.”

Steve scuffed his feet a few times, looking pensive. Then he turned to Lucy.

“Ma’s right. You ain’t no damsel in distress. Sorry if I seemed like I thought that.”

She genuinely giggled at that.

“S'okay. Your ma’s a smart lady.”

“Damn right.”

The whole time they spoke, Becca watched her brother’s face, waiting to see if he’d say anything. Instead, as he kept his own gaze locked on Steve; she could almost see the gears turning in his mind, reenforcing his judgment of his new friend. 

Typical Bucky. Only knew the fella three days and he already thought he was a hero just like Superman. 

But maybe in a way, he was.

 

* * *

 

Johanna paused the recorder again, giving her grandmother time to wipe her eyes and for herself to come back to the present.

Outside the window, the sunlight had shifted from yellow to gold and shadows had begun to grow long. How long had they been sitting there?

“So, did you guys have a lot of black friends or what?” she asked, half-joking. “Cause I notice that seems to run in the white side of our family.”

“Well, not just.” Becca paused. “Aside from Lucy and Jason, there were the Arellano twins and Minnie Connolly too. I still remember that day when Izzy…”

“Wait, hold up. Izzy? As in _Isabella?_ ” Johanna wasn’t sure if she’d heard correctly. “You…did you say that you guys personally knew _Isabella Arellano_ and _Minnie Connolly!?_ And I never knew about this!?”

“You never asked.”

“Oh don’t give me that shit.” Johanna ran her hands through her hair. “Do you know how many high school English papers I wrote on Isabella Arellano’s stories? And Francisco Arellano’s poetry? And every civil rights activist worth their salt knows Minnie Connolly’s music! And you knew those guys all along! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Becca’s back stiffened in defensiveness. The two of them stared at each other for a long few minutes before the older woman sighed, and spoke.

“I assume you know by now that Izzy and Cisco Arellano were twins?”

“Well, obviously.”

“Did you know they were both gay?”

Johanna wanted to ask _What the hell does this have to do with anything?_ What she said instead was:

“Well, if you read one of their works, it’s kind of obvious. Izzy talks more about how pretty girls are in one story than I did in a year of college, for god’s sake. School didn’t like it when I pointed it out in my papers, but I wasn’t wrong, so they couldn’t mark me down…oh my god, if you tell me this was another of Dad’s batshit ideas…”

Becca nodded grimly.

Johanna tipped her head back against the chair with a _thud_.

“Jesus. But what about Minnie Connolly? She married a dude, right?”

“Yes. But her music…”

“…was about civil rights. Dad _married_ a black woman, why the hell didn’t he want his black daughter to listen to music about civil rights?”

“It wasn’t just that.” Becca paused. “Even when she was a kid, Minnie wasn’t afraid to be controversial. We always loved it, but she got in almost as much trouble as Steve on her own. In the sixties and seventies, people sang her songs at riots and in jail cells. She went to all of those riots, and let me tell you, she was arrested almost as much as the rest of us put together.” The old woman laughed. “Along with Leah, we were the only straight women in our whole friend group, which considering how impressive she was, I thought quite unfortunate.”

“And Steve was friends with her?” Johanna almost forgot to be mad at her father. Almost. “An Iroquois woman who protested the government and wrote songs about power to the oppressed?”

“Friends with her? They went to the same church for fifteen years.” Becca paused. “I didn’t meet her there, obviously, but I did meet her not long after Steve did…”

Johanna pressed the button again.

 

* * *

 

_Red Hook, 1928_

“…And don’t you come back!”

Miriam yelped in protest as the four kids were shooed out of the street, still clutching their baseballs. Leah grabbed her now-ruined hair ribbon out of the gutter and stuck it in her sweaty curls as she dashed past. Becca led the charge down towards a nearby alley, Bucky tagging at her heels and laughing.

The four Barnes kids collapsed against the filthy ground, clutching their sides. 

“What a fine lady,” Leah drawled once she’d caught her breath. “You’d think she lived in a Manhattan duplex and owned a speakeasy to boot, 'stead of a teensy apartment in this crappy place.”

“How the hell do you know what speakeasies are?” Bucky demanded, craning his neck back to look at her.

“I hear stuff, Buck. You and Steve don’t talk as quiet as you think you do.”

Bucky blushed.

“Ma’s gonna plotz when she finds out we were upsetting the 'neighbors’ again,” Becca remarked, leaning back against the sooty brick wall. “Even if all we did was throw a few lousy baseballs.”

“But one of them _did_ smash that lady’s window,” Miriam finally spoke up.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that, Mir.”

Miriam stuck the end of her thumb in her mouth and chewed it.

“So…” Becca twirled a ruined curl around her finger. “You got any more ideas, Buck? Sundays don’t last forever, ya know.”

Bucky opened his mouth.

“Ideas that don’t involve goin’ to the Rogerses’ house,” Leah interrupted.

“Who said I was gonna say that?” he demanded, turning even redder. “'Sides, you know Aunt Sarah makes the best pie.”

Becca had to concede that was true, even if pie was the only thing Sarah knew how to make without a) potatoes, b) boiling everything, or c) both. 

“Pie sounds better than getting in trouble,” Miriam volunteered.

Leah snorted.

“Knowing Steve, we’re all gonna get in trouble no matter what we do.”

“She’s got a point.”

“Oh for the love of–” Bucky rolled his eyes, then stopped. “You know what, she’s actually right. Don’t tell Steve I said that.”

“Do we look like narks to you, Buck?” Becca grinned, reaching up and ruffling her brother’s fluffy hair. “Let’s go get some pie. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Steve won’t pick a scuffle with a brick wall or his fork.”

 

* * *

 

_Fulton Heights (One Block From The Barnes’ Apartment)_

Sarah’s apartment was three blocks away by the time the kids walked by Mr. Perlman’s grocery shop. The old man, with his perpetual red cheeks and nose, cheerful demeanor, and long white beard, had always reminded Becca of Sarah’s description of Santa Claus; except skinnier, and Jewish.

Also, Santa had probably never swept out the front of a grocery store in his abnormally long and cookie-thieving life.

“G'morning, Barneses!” he greeted them, leaning his broom against the doorway. “Where you kids off to today, hmm? Not about to get into more trouble are we?”

“We’re just off to the Rogers’ place, sir,” Bucky replied, polite as can be.

“Again? This must be the sixth time this week! Y'know,” he twirled a finger meditatively through his beard, “None of you ever used to get in trouble before you met that boy. He’s not driving you all to a life of crime, is he? Cause with that hot Irish blood of his…”

“Oh please,” Leah scoffed. “Steve’s so _good_ now Ma doesn’t let us get away with nothing anymore.”

“Let’s hope you’re right, Miss Leah. Just be warned: ladies are more partial to bad boys. If you don’t watch yourself, one of you girls might end up married to him someday.”

“Eeeeewwwwwwww!” all three girls shrieked in perfect and never-to-be-repeated unison. Bucky, for his part, looked like he was trying to fight back a smile.

 

* * *

 

“He thought that _Miriam_ was going to get married to a _man?_ ”

“Let it never be said that Ezekiel Perlstein was particularly perceptive.”

 

* * *

 

“You all say that now, just wait 'till you’re older and you start liking boys.” The old man went back to sweeping the sidewalk. 

“I’ll never like boys,” Miriam muttered under her breath.

“That’s the spirit,” Leah encouraged her.

“Nobody’s gettin’ married to Steve,” Becca said out loud. “He’s already family. He’s like…like the brother we never had.”

“Screw you, Becks.”

She stuck out her tongue at Bucky, and he pulled a face in reply.

“If you girls say so.” Mr. Perlstein shrugged. “If you don’t think he’s a bad influence though, you might change your minds when you get to his street. There’s something pretty big happening down there.”

“Big? Like what?”

“Not sure.” He scratched his beard. “I’ve only heard it. But I think someone was yelling about an Indian, an Irishman, and your friend’s mother.”

“An Indian?” Leah looked intrigued for the first time that day. “Like the ones in the movies?”

“Hell if I know, I was only listening–”

“Aunt Sarah’s caught up in it?” Becca interrupted rudely. “She might be in trouble!”

Miriam squeaked in alarm. 

“Now girls, I’m sure your friend’s neighbors can handle it…”

“No, they’re right.” Bucky’s eyes were lit up with fright. “If the Rogerses are in any sort of trouble, we should go get 'em out of it. We can’t risk 'em getting hurt.”

Grim as a seasoned veteran, Becca prepared herself for war. She whipped her favorite pink ribbon out of her flattened curls and tied it around her wrist for safekeeping. She rolled up the sleeves of her dress and brushed caked mud off the skirt. She tucked her baseball into her skirt pocket and picked a dry stick off the ground; hefting it like she was hitting for the Dodgers.

Nothing would ever hurt a Rogers while there was a Barnes around.

Mr. Perlstein seemed to realize that he’d lost the battle. His shoulders slumped, his eyes rolled back in exhaustion.

“Alright, I can’t stop ya. But at least try not to ruin your dresses fighting, girls.”

“Who gives a shit about dresses?” Leah scoffed, ignoring Becca’s gasp. “We’ve got more important things to do.”

“Let’s go!” Miriam cried, and the four of them were off.

The dusty Brooklyn alleyways had made themselves up like a parade of flapper girls, happy to welcome autumn with open arms. The dark red leaves, almost purple, smeared across the sidewalks like lipstick and rouge; the gold-yellow leaves dusted on like dazzling eye makeup. Although October had only just arrived, the tiny sidewalk trees were already almost bare; giving up the ghost early in anticipation of the snow.

Since it was the weekend, the streets had a few other children straggling around, playing in the leaves. But as it was also a Sunday, most of the goyim were still at church.

Apparently not the Rogereses, however.

As the Barneses approached, Becca could see that a small crowd had gathered around Sarah’s little apartment building. A woman with long dark hair was being furiously engaged by a blond couple. A tall, slightly scruffy man was clutching a squirming young girl by the shoulders. 

While all that was going on, the Rogereses were standing in the heart of the volcano. Still in her pastel church dress, Sarah presided over the arguing trio, apparently trying to pull them apart. Steve was on his tip-toes saying something to the girl, and she was leveling a suspicious glare at him.

But when he happened to glance back and see the Barneses coming nearer, he told the girl “I’ll be right back” and darted over.

“Bucky,” he wheezed, “guys. Good thing ya came, things’re gettin’ nasty. The Linettis are mad that Mrs. Connolly doesn’t come to church with the rest of us. Like, really mad.”

“Where’s the Indian?” Leah asked.

“What?”

“Mr. Perlstein heard that there was trouble goin’ down at your place, we asked what the hell he was talking about, he said it had something to do with an Irishman and an Indian.”

“Don’t cuss yet, you’re too young.” Bucky’s scolding fell on deaf ears.

“He must’ve meant Mr. and Mrs. Connolly,” Steve reasoned. “She’s from upstate, not west, but she’s called herself and her kid Indian before. That’s her.” He indicated the tall woman who was still in the midst of the argument.

Mrs. Connolly kept her satiny hair long (nearly down to her hips!) and ruler-straight instead of the bobbed styles Becca’d seen on other ladies. She wore no buckskin or feathers in favor of an elegant green dress that Becca’d love to make herself sometime, just to wear and feel ladylike for a moment. Her shoes, clearly thrown on minutes ago, were crimson. She held her chin high and said little in the face of the onslaught. Her husband, pale and bearded with reddish-brown hair and gray eyes, was almost her polar opposite. But he had a similar set to his jaw as his wife, and held the girl in his arms with gentle firmness.

“She doesn’t look much like an Indian.”

“They don’t all ride horses and wear feathers anymore, ya know.”

“Oh, now you’re the expert, Steven?”

With one last scolding from Sarah, the angry couple finally stalked off. Mrs. Connolly turned to say something like thank you to her, and Mr. Connolly finally let go of the young girl. She twisted away from his grip and stormed over to the other kids.

“Damn Italians,” she snarled, palpable hostility rolling off her in waves.

The Barnes kids all took a step back. Only Steve was unfazed.

“Nice to see ya too, Minnie.”

She snorted derisively.

“I swear, you and your mother are the only good people in that church, Rogers.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You and I have different perspectives on 'fair.’”

“You’re Minnie? Mrs. Connolly’s daughter?” Becca ventured.

The older girl turned to her.

In some ways, Minnie was the spitting image of her mother; same amber skin, same obsidian hair, same brown eyes with the same proud gaze. But where her mother was subtly regal, Minnie was ragged. Her hair was an undone forest of tangles, her nails bitten down to the quick while capping scabbed knuckles, the leather on her shoes all worn down and faded.

“I’m guessing you’re the famous Barneses,” she replied. A touch of her earlier hostility faded, but her eyebrows were still knotted in suspicion.

“We get that a lot,” Leah shrugged. “But let’s be honest, the only famous one here is our dumb brother.”

“Hey,” said dumb brother protested.

Minnie cast her gaze over him.

“Oh yeah. Steve never shuts up about you. And from what I hear, you never shut up about him either.”

It was as though someone had flipped a switch on the three sisters. All of them promptly lit up with an eagerness to embarrass at the same time.

“You have no idea–”

“It’s kind of annoying, really–”

“They made each other Valentines’ cards two years in a row–”

“Bucky’s kind of sucked, actually.”

“You know I’m not the artist here, gals,” he reminded them. A faint peony blush had spread across his cheeks. But he followed up with, “You should really be berating Stevie here for rhyming 'buddy’ with 'ruddy.’ Or 'love’ with fitting 'like a glove.’”

“Dry up, Bucky,” Steve grumbled, glowering even more than usual while Minnie cackled with laughter.

“What did your mom think of that?” she gasped.

“She didn’t seem to like it much…”

“…And I still don’t get why,” Miriam piped up.

“Eh, parents get mad over stupid shit. Like saying you won’t get married. Or getting ink on silk dresses. Or breaking windows with baseballs–”

“We did that this morning.”

“–so yeah, who can fathom parents’ mind, or whatever.”

Minnie tucked a vine of kudzu-like hair behind her ear and glanced up at the heavens in impatience. 

“Anyway, from what I’ve been told, the Kingsleys should be back from church in about twenty minutes, so Steve, if you want to do the thing we planned before our moms realize we’re gone…”

“You’re complaining about our neighbors for us now? Aww, Steve, you do care.”

“Dry up, Bucky,” Steve said again, but there was affection behind it. “And you know, you guys don’t have to come along. Your mom’s really gonna have kittens if she finds out, and I don’t want to get you guys in trouble.”

The kids exchanged looks like, _What are we going to do with this guy?_

“Trouble?” Becca grinned. “By now, don’t you think that’s a given?”

 

* * *

 

_Fulton Heights (The Barneses’ Apartment)_

All six children gathered on the balcony; pressed eagerly together like a crowd of Dodgers fans. Two floors down, the uncanny cacophony of shrieking children and complaining adults had suddenly blasted upwards, and the kids knew it was time.

“Ready?” Minnie asked.

“Born ready,” Becca scoffed, hefting her end of the bucket. On the other side, Steve’s tiny arms quivered under the weight; but he held firm. “Bucky, how’re we looking?”

Her brother was peering over the edge as far as he could go, the mud-caked soles of his shoes fully suspended off the concrete. 

“Target approaching,” he declared in his best radio-show-narrator voice. “Target looking grumpy.”

Mrs. Kingsley’s voice wafted up to the balcony like the scent of garbage on a hot day.

“…And to think Oswald, we could have those queers living in our neighborhood! Ours! We must pray that God forgives them when they burn in hell, but honestly, it’ll be good riddance. I still don’t know why the government doesn’t get rid of them before they influence the good children living here…”

“Do you know what she’s talking about?” Miriam whispered to Leah. The older girl only shrugged.

The bucket creaked warningly.

“On three,” Steve whispered to Becca.  

The two children walked up to the edge of the balcony, hefting their bomb. 

“One…two…three!”

“Bombs away!” Bucky yelled.  

She and Steve upended the bucket with such force that the water rushed out with a roar and a good deal of it ended up splashing Bucky too. But fortunately, most of the water made it over the side and hit their target.

Mrs. Kingsley screamed in rage as she was suddenly drenched from head to foot, curses spilling from her mouth that would’ve made even Winnie flinch. 

“So what does that mean?” Leah wondered aloud.

“Er…which word?”

“The one that rhymes with 'schmuck.’”

“…I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“You filthy little brats!” Mrs. Kingsley shrieked. Or something to that extent. “How dare you! Have you no respect for your superiors?”

“No,” Steve called back.

Becca laughed aloud. She loved that kid.

“No offense ma'am, but the water wasn’t even that cold,” Bucky grinned. “I should know; I got just as drenched as you.”

“Don’t be such a baby, Barnes,” Minnie scoffed.

Bucky feigned getting shot in the chest. Steve snorted at him, Bucky almost tilted off the balcony in faux grief.

Miriam looked less amused and more worried.

“Are we going to get in trouble?”

“Nope,” Bucky said cheerfully as he regained himself and wrapped an arm around Steve while Mrs. Kingsley screeched threats up at them. “She ain’t got an ounce of authority on us; just thinks she does.”

“What she’s really got is a boatload of attitude and a lot of spoiled brats for kids,” Leah smirked. 

“And also a wet Sunday dress,” Becca finished.

Minnie snorted, before digging a pack of cigarettes – actual cigarettes! – out of her dress pocket and sticking one in her mouth.

“You kids are alright, for white folks.” A snick of a match, and the girl who couldn’t be more than thirteen huffed a cloud of blue smoke up into the cold, damp air. It slowly began to settle around her head like a halo. “And a little less righteous than Saint Steven the Angry over there.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve grumbled unconvincingly.

Minnie did a terrible impression of his voice:

“'We need to be the bigger person, Minnie.’ Fuck no. I’m five-nothing; they can be the bigger person.”

“And you’re not even any bigger than her, Steve.” Becca pointed out. 

“I’m not righteous!”

“What the _hell_ did you kids do this time!?”

All of them jumped around in sync.

Winnie had two grocery bags from her weekly shopping trip balanced on her hip, her hair pinned up in loose curls over her floral housedress, and a glare to shame Satan burning in her eyes.

“I could hear Blanche Kingsley screaming at you lot from the first floor. You kids have a lot to answer for.” She glanced over the railing, and said in a low murmur, “Good for you. She had it coming, that bullying bitch. But you still can’t go around dumping water on people.” Then she cleared her throat and continued in her “you’re so screwed” voice: “All of you are grounded!”

“What?” Becca shrieked, playing her usual role. “But Ma–!" 

"Don’t you 'but’ me, Rebecca Barnes! And just wait till your father gets home from work, all of you!”

“Don’t look at me,” Minnie shrugged, sucking on her cigarette nonchalantly. Winnie shot her a look like _“who is this kid?”_

“Mrs. Barnes,” Steve interjected. “Don’t blame the other kids, it was my idea.”

“Yeah, blame him.”

“Leah Barnes, be quiet!” Then Winnie turned to Steve, and her expression softened. “And of course I don’t blame you, Steve dear. Would you and your mother like to come over for dinner? I’m making meatloaf.”

The Barnes kids all exchanged _“this is such bullshit”_ looks in unison. Minnie looked rather like she was listening to an engaging radio show.

“Sorry Mrs. Barnes, it was definitely my idea. I even told Minnie here to do it. Usually she never has to be persuaded dump things on people.”

“So I gathered.” Winnie glanced at the young girl. “Very well.” She raised her voice again. “Then I’ll be telling your mother then, if you want to be punished so badly! God help me, Steven, do you ever not take justice into your own hands! Wait for the adults to do it for once!” Then in her normal tone: “I assume that you all want apple cake for dessert?”

The kids all nodded.

“Good. Bucky, girls, go start your chores. Steve, phone your mother and ask her over. And you…” She looked askance at Minnie again. “Go…do whatever you do.”

“Gladly.”

Minnie stubbed her cigarette against the balcony railing and strode out the apartment, long tangled hair swinging behind her. She paused long enough to say, “See you next week, Rogers.”

And then she was gone.

God, she was such a role model.

As the other kids scampered off, Becca started to go too; before her mother set down her shopping bags and caught her by the arm.

“Rebecca…a word.”

“What? What did I do?”

Winifred bent down and came face-to-face with her daughter. Becca’s eyes took in the premature frown lines and smile wrinkles etched in her mother’s face.

“You did nothing I don’t know about, believe me. But this isn’t about you. It’s about Steve.”

“Steve?”

Winnie’s frown lines deepened.

“I worry about him. Your brother, for all that he complains, won’t hear a word against him. He’s devoted. And your sisters…they’re still young. They don’t understand what might come of your constant insubordination.”

“You’ve mentioned that to them a few times.”

“Rebecca…”

“Sorry.” She paused. “Steve’s a good kid at heart, I don’t think he’s gonna be a delinquent or nothin.”

“But that’s the point.” She glanced back to the living room, where Steve was still on the phone with Sarah. “He’s so good, he feels the need to avenge everything that happens in this whole goddamn town. You told him about what Mrs. Kingsley said about Lucy’s family, right?”

Actually, Bucky had told him. But the endgame was the same. 

The Smiths couldn’t have complained about the Kingsleys’ gossip, or they’d be called liars. Or, more likely, the landlord might not even care. If they’d tried to take revenge themselves, they might get kicked out of the building. 

So apparently he’d concocted a plan with his fellow parishioner; neither of whom even lived in the building. Foolproof. 

_At least until our family got involved._

“So you see what I mean?”

“Ma, even _you’d_ have a time trying to separate us from him.”

“I don’t want you kids to be _apart_ from him, dammit,” Winnie hissed. “He’s a good boy. But I don’t want _any_ of you to get hurt. He can’t save the entire world by himself, and he can’t keep gambling his well-being like it doesn’t matter.”

 _Who knew that a mother would be so worried about a kid that helped old ladies carry shopping bags and got along with kids? He’s not even_ her _kid. Steve doesn’t need saving, he’s the bravest of us all._

Becca pushed her mother’s advice to the back of her mind.

“'Kay, Ma. I get it.”

“Really?” Winnie’s eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, really.”

Clearly not satisfied, she got to her feet and picked her groceries back up. 

“Go help your brother.”

Eager to escape, Becca darted into the living room and ran into Bucky’s war with the broom.

“Pretty sure you’re not s'posed to make it dirtier than it was before,” she remarked as the newly risen cloud of dust bunnies wafted towards her.

He fanned the filthy broom at her; she shrieked and covered herself with a couch pillow.

Fresh from his talk with his mother, Steve came to the rescue, hefting the dustpan like a lance. Bucky knocked the broom handle against it in a mockery of a duel. 

“Protect yourself!” Becca shrieked, flinging the couch pillow at Steve. He caught it, and immediately shielded his face from Bucky’s onslaught.

The two boys chased each other around the room laughing while Becca kicked her brother’s approximation of cleaning around the floor. Leah and Miriam pretended to duel one another with forks. Winnie settled her groceries in around the kitchen, and occasionally glanced back, trying to decide when to reprimand them for their mess.

All seemed right in the world.

 

* * *

 

Johanna was beginning to think that this was the longest she’d gone without contributing to a conversation in months. Afternoon was tipping towards evening, and her half-drunk tea was as cold as a stone.

Rachel eyeballed them from the next room, clearly wondering when she was going to realize she was overstaying her welcome.

“Two questions. One, do you have time for one more story before I head home?” Johanna asked, ignoring her aunt’s stink-eye.  

“Yes.”

“And two: did Steve do _everything_ with great-uncle Bucky?”

“Also yes.”

Johanna drew a finger around the rim of her mug, contemplating that remark.  

 _You’re reading too much into it,_ her common sense scolded. _Obviously she meant that they were very close friends._

But like always, she decided to consider her common sense minor background noise.

“ _Everything_ everything?” she pressed. 

Becca shrugged nonchalantly.

“I don’t know. Ask them.”

“Okay, I wi–hey.”

The old woman actually smirked.

“Ha ha, very funny,” she grumbled. “But seriously, what do you mean by everything?”

“I’ll tell you that story some night when I’m less tired,” Becca promised. “I want to muster all my energy so I can be fully awake to see the look on your face.”

“That sounds suspiciously like I’ll enjoy it very much.”

Her grandmother shot her an attempt at a cryptic smile.

Rachel coughed loudly.

“Oh dry up, Rachel. It’s high time she knew, anyway.”

Johanna longed to know what that meant. Her heart beat a violent tattoo against her ribs; she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Her frustration must’ve shown on her face.

“I promise we’ll give you the truth, Johanna.”

“'We?’ Who’s 'we?’”

“Well, I’m assuming you’re going to want to talk to the rest of our old friends after this.”

While her granddaughter was still reeling from that, Becca began to talk again.

 

* * *

 

_Fulton Heights, 1935_

Becca tucked her dress back into place as she ran, frantically teasing mussed curls back into some semblance of neat. She re-applied smeared lipstick as she ran, eager to make it back before her family would notice anything awry. Leah would never stop teasing her if she knew that she’d spent the afternoon before Thanksgiving behind the schoolhouse with Jacob Trevor–

 

* * *

 

“Ugh, no more details please.”

“It’s not like your generation invented sex, Johanna.”

“Stop!”

 

* * *

 

–But that wasn’t important. What was important was not getting into hot water – literally – with her mom.

Becca took one step into the much-more-cramped-than-usual apartment and was instantly greeted with a mouthful of food-scented steam.

“What took so long?” Winifred demanded from somewhere within the turkey sauna.

Well, Jacob Trevor certainly hadn’t.

 

* * *

 

“Oh for shit’s sake–”

“Fine, fine, for your non-existent innocence, I’ll be serious now.”

 

* * *

 

“Mrs. Goldblatt wanted me to supervise detention again,” she lied.

Winnie emerged from the turkey steam, frowning and wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“I swear, that woman cares more about you mothering those unruly boys then she does about your education. Well, you’re here now, and that’s what’s important. You’d better get to the kitchen; there’s a couple of inexperienced girls losing their war with the pie crust.”

For the brief walk to the kitchen, Becca wondered what her mother meant by that. Despite their youth, both her sisters were phenomenal cooks and bakers. The day they lost a war with pie crust was the day they lost a war with the Angel of Death.

But her wondering was quickly cut off when she saw the girls at the counter.

“I think you rolled it out too thin,” Lucy fretted.

“I did not,” Izzy replied indignantly. “It just needs more flour, that’s all. And then we need to–”

“Not everything can be made into a battle plan, Iz.”

“Just most things. Are you sure that that’s not too many pecans?”

“I’m just following the recipe!”

“You two are going to be the _worst_ housewives someday,” Becca teased as she walked up to her friends.

“Worse than you?” Izzy challenged.

Lucy immediately dropped the bowl of nuts and ran over, giving her friend a hug.

“Becca! You’re here!”

“ _I’m_ here? I live here!” She hugged Lucy back. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Mama said that I could stay until she was done with our dinner,” Lucy explained, releasing the hug. She looked as lovely as always: mahogany complexion glowing, ebony curls bouncing, and eyes full of light. Becca noticed with a hint of pride that her friend was also wearing the violet dress she’d sewn for her birthday. “And then I gotta get back across the hall.”

“You know Papi doesn’t do American holidays,” Izzy explained. She strode over and wrapped her arm around Lucy’s shoulders. Her maple-wood hands were dusted with flour, carob locks messily pinned in an elaborate deception of carelessness, shrewd coffee-colored eyes flicking around the room. Her blue checkered dress swished sweetly around her knees; making her look demure as a schoolgirl. “Cisco and I got bored of kicking around the Heights like we usually do, so we headed over to Steve’s place. But then he said he was heading here, so here we are." 

The other girl popped a spare bit of caramel in her mouth, leaving no illusions as to her purpose in visiting. 

"Ya hungry, Isabella?” Becca asked sweetly. “Maybe finish the pie before you get your dinner.”

“If dinner relies on you Rebecca, _la reina del fuego_ , we’ll surely starve to death,” Izzy returned. 

“She’s not _that_ bad,” Lucy protested.

“You do remember the noodle incident, don’t you?”

Before Becca could defend herself against such slander, her mother’s shouts promptly erupted from the living room.

“HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU NOT TO SMOKE IN THE LIVING ROOM? I JUST CLEANED THOSE CURTAINS! AND IT’S NOT EXACTLY LIKE WE’RE ROLLING IN MONEY FOR NEW ONES–”

“I love when other people’s parents start yelling,” Izzy remarked. “It means no one will be yelling at _me_.”

“Your father has never yelled at you in his life, you bullshitter.”

“You’d think Leah would’ve learned by now,” Lucy sighed. “I mean, even Minnie knows better…”

“–IF YOU’RE GOING TO FOUL UP THE APARTMENT, DON’T DO IT WHERE THE CURTAINS COULD BE DAMAGED! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD – oh hello, Steve dear. Don’t go in the living room, I don’t want your asthma to flare up.”

“I’m fine, Winnie. Where’d the other kids go?”

“Last I checked, my son was busy setting out the nice tablecloth,” Winifred replied shrewdly. 

The girls tittered. Becca could almost see Steve blushing the way he did; all the way down to his collarbone.

“I didn’t mean–”

“Of course you didn’t, Steven. For your information, Jason is putting your mother’s lovely flowers in a vase, Minnie and Cisco are off rescuing the ice cream from the icebox, one of my daughters is setting the table with her brother, one is heading onto the balcony with her cheap cigarette–”

Leah’s irritable stomping echoed like elephant feet all around the apartment.

“–while the eldest is in the kitchen with Lucy and Izzy, where they attempt to not mangle our dessert.”

Becca laughed. Both other girls scowled at her. 

A second later, Steve’s tiny blond head popped up around the doorframe. 

“Need any help, guys?”

“Thank you Steve, but…” Lucy faltered.

“We’ve got it covered.”

“You’re a shitty cook,” Becca translated.

“I don’t deny it,” he replied, dry as paper. “But even my ma’s helping get ready for dinner, and she hasn’t been looking too good recently. I don’t like sittin’ around and feelin’ useless.”

“Fair enough,” Izzy decided. She thrust the rolling pin at him like a weapon. “Don’t make the crust too thin, and you’re golden.”

Lucy murmured something under her breath that might’ve been _“hypocrite.”_ Izzy ignored her.

For his part, Steve took to flattening and rolling the pie crust like he was at war; rolling up his crisp white sleeves and pounding the dough until his small arms quivered. Lucy went back to mixing the caramel with the pecans while Izzy held the bowl, muttering Spanish swearwords. 

Shaking her head in mirth, Becca left the room and meandered out through the apartment. She passed Minnie hacking frost off the ice cream while Cisco offered suggestions, Jason organizing a bouquet like a professional, her siblings tussling over the silverware, and Sarah holding several bowls of vegetables in hand, apparently deciding where to set them down. 

She headed out onto the balcony, right past her sister and towards the fire escape. 

Leah, still smoking like a chimney, watched her go.

“The roof?”

“Yeah,” Becca huffed, hauling herself onto the ladder. “Need some time to myself before the rest of the family shows up.”

“God help us all.” Leah exhaled, wreathing her face in the foul fumes. 

After scampering past several neighbors’ windows and startling a stray cat, Becca finally settled herself on the roof of the building. Directly below her, several more buildings, each more decrepit than the last, huddled around each other like gossiping old women; still with a spark in them yet. And indeed, there wasn’t a single window not lit up buttery yellow and crowded with poor families.  
Beyond that, Brooklyn spread out before her; gray and jagged as a cliff’s teeth. The city loomed even farther, tar-black interspersed with flickers of gold.

She exhaled and wrapped her arms around her knees, gently rocking herself back and forth for long minutes…

…Until the sound of scraping metal and wheezing breath jolted her out of her trance.

“Bucky, I told you, just because I don’t wanna talk doesn’t mean…wait. Steve?”  
Sure enough, he heaved himself off the fire escape and clambered up beside her. _Gasp_ , pant, _gasp_.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Leah said…. _gasp_ ….that you come up to the roof when you’ve…. _gasp_ ….got something on your mind…is it okay if I…?" 

He held out one of his asthma sticks.

"Sure, go ahead.”

A quick flick of a match, and the sweet herbal scent of the burning stick lit the night. He took a long puff, and his breathing visibly slowed. 

“So I…” He took another drag, “…finished with the pie crust, and Izzy and Lucy were doing their thing again, and I wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help.”

“I don’t really want to talk.”

“Okay.”

Several beats passed. The tip of the stick glowed orange in the dusty night.

“Actually, if you could just listen and not lecture me or anything, that’d be great.”

“I’ll try.”

She was struck, not for the first time, by just how earnest he was. Genuinely wanting to help. Not that her other friends and siblings were mean or selfish or anything (at least not most of the time), but Steve was almost unreal in his honesty. It was easy to tell why Bucky liked him so much.

“What do you know about love?”

He almost inhaled the burning herbs in shock.

“What did you hear?” he gagged.

“Nothing! Really, nothing. I just…I’ve been with a few boys by now, if ya know what I mean, and again this afternoon. Don’t tell my ma. But I didn’t love any of 'em. Ain’t you supposed to love someone before you get intimate? Ain’t that how it works?”

He was quiet for a moment.

“I think only girls get told that, honestly. You should just…be able to do what you want, with who you want, and…nobody should tell you otherwise.” He took another drag off his stick, and a distinct slur entered his voice. 

“Because…freedom, to do what you want, do who you want…should be a right.”

“Steve, I think you’ve taken one hit too many.”

“That may be, but I will not rest until everyone can love who they want without fear!” he declared, trying to stand up and almost falling off the roof. 

“Fuckin’ lightweight,” Becca grinned, grabbing her friend by the wrist and pulling him back down. “But I’m glad you’re such a proponent of free love.”

“How could I not be?” He sat back on his wrists and gazed out at the cement jungle below him. 

She waited almost a minute for the explanation behind that remark, but it never came.

“Well, anyway.” She took his asthma stick from him and took a quick pull herself. A mellow floating sensation swiftly overtook her…and it was awful. With a shudder, she stubbed the thing out against the rooftop. 

“Wanna head back down and reconnect with our friends? Last I saw, Minnie was doing some serious fuckin’ battle against the icebox.”

“Serious fuckin’ is my favorite kind of battle,” he said without a hint of sarcasm. She snorted with mirth, ignoring the quizzical look on his face as she did.

Then in an odd parody of chivalry, she took his arm and escorted him back down the fire escape to their balcony. Leah had already headed back inside, the only sign of her presence being the piles of ash on the balcony. The middle sister always had been a total slob.

“Look alive, the rest of the family must’ve shown up,” Becca muttered. 

“Your grandmother is going to be so pissed about our friends being here.” An odd mix of vindictiveness and trepidation colored Steve’s voice.

“She’s a bitch, and Ma won’t put up with any of her shit.” She did her best to sound convincing. Winifred’s family was all Romanian Jews, which had caused an uproar enough when George had converted and married her. Then Lucy’s family moved into the building. Then Minnie had the gall to drop by every year for free food and a chance to pick a fight. Then the Arellanos, with their unabashed immigrant selves. And finally, this year, Jason; the figurative last straw.

Ah, what the hell. Their friends had as much back up as anyone could want, and it wasn’t like they were incapable of defending themselves. Her grandmother could eat a white supremacist dick, as far as Rebecca Barnes was concerned. 

Judging by the expression Mary Barnes was wearing when the kids walked in, she had done just that. And it had not tasted good.

“Get them out of your house, George!” she snarled at her son like no one else could hear her. “I know how this ends: half your belongings stolen, home torn up, the whole place reeking of catfish…”

“Sounds like you had a successful party,” Jason said pleasantly. “You mind telling me your friends’ names so I can invite them over?" 

"Don’t speak to me, you hoodlum. You…” She leveled a glare at the Arellanos. “Shouldn’t you two be hightailing it back to Mexico?”

“We’re Puerto Rican,” the twins said in unison; exhaustion traced across Cisco’s face, bored disgust across Izzy’s.

“As for those two little brats, I’ve been cursed with your faces ever since your uppity mothers decided to move you in here–”

“My mother hates the people here,” Lucy interrupted softly.

“My mother lives five blocks over; it’s _me_ who decided to move in here,” Minnie added smugly.

Mary acted like neither of them had said anything.

“–and you’re still here, are you?” she snapped at Steve. “James still stands you?”

“Don’t talk to my son that way,” Sarah said quietly. Beside her, some distant cousins stirred uneasily in their seats.

“Yes, I’m still here,” Steve snapped right back. “Bucky still likes me. So why _you’re_ here, I have no idea.”

Mary swelled like a shriveled bullfrog. Sensing a showdown, the other kids eagerly leaned forward. Jason lounged easily, his tasteful gray-and-red outfit smart against his earth-dark skin. Cisco, in green with his silky brown hair teased into perfection, clutched his knife nervously while his sister leaned her chin onto her hand and watched. The other Barnes girls leaned into each other and whispered. For his part, Bucky’s eyes remained locked on Steve swirling with exasperation and endearment. 

“And you should be nicer to our friends,” Steve added. There was still a slight haze in his voice from the asthma stick, but his words were clear. “They ain’t done nothing wrong.”

Izzy whispered something under her breath in Spanish that probably meant _“That you can prove.”_

“Don’t you talk nonsense to me, you scrawny insubordinate brat. And _you_ , Rebecca, how does even _your_ mother let you out in public with a hemline that high and lipstick that color? You look like a teenage whore.”

Becca opened her mouth to really let her grandmother have it, but Winifred beat her to the punch.

“Perhaps if you spent more time worrying about yourself instead of my children and their friends, Mary, _you_ wouldn’t look like a dried out cunt,” she retorted, her tone laced with hellfire.

The entire table went silent for three seconds. Even Minnie was stricken quiet.

Then:

“Are you going to let her talk to me like that, George!?”

“Mother, I’m not sure where you got the idea that I had any sort of control over my wife,” George replied mildly. His siblings stirred with resigned misery.

“So…if you’re done alienating them, we’d like to eat dinner with our friends now,” Steve finished. Without waiting for a response, he strode up to the table and proudly situated himself between Bucky and Jason. 

Sarah smiled gently at the stunned extended family before handing Winifred the carving implements.

Becca for her part, gazed arrogantly at everyone like, _yeah, I’m with them. What’re you gonna do about it?_

Then she plopped down between Leah and Minnie; cheerfully helping herself to food before holding hands to pray.

“…And most of all, we give thanks for our family…”

Steve caught her eye across the table and they shared a grin.

 

* * *

 

Johanna laughed in open delight.

“No wonder you guys pissed everyone off. The snark is genetic.”

“You don’t say,” Becca replied, dry as summer.

Her granddaughter hit the STOP button on the recorder and leaned back in her seat. 

“So…will I be getting more stories from you? Because I like the little slice-of-life snippets, but it’s not enough to write a full biography on.”

“I know that Johanna; I’m not senile yet. I’ve got plenty of material for you, believe me. Oh, the time we freed the lions at the circus, the time we spent a day being chased by cops around Washington Heights, the time we ditched school to spend the day at Coney Island and Steve threw up on the Cyclone…I can tell you all that and more. But there are some things about our friends I think you should hear directly from their mouths.”

“Yeah Bubbe, that’s great, but it’s not like I can just walk up to the front doors of people that shaped the century and go: 'hey, wanna talk about that dead guy you knew when you were a kid?’ I don’t even know where they live, and even if I did, I’d get arrested for trespassing; which, knowing the cops, will probably mean that poor Lilly’ll be paying for my funeral this time next week.”

“First of all, she took life insurance out on you months ago; something about that one reproduction rights protest in the city–”

“What!? That’s a complete overreaction; I was only _lightly_ stabbed–”

“–and second of all, there’s this new thing called Google. I hear all the kids are using it.”

“Har de har har. But seriously, she took life insurance out on me? The other guy looked worse, anyway.”

Becca ignored this.

“So in all, I think you’ll be fine. Besides, they’re not going to call the cops on you; they’ve all had the cops called on them one too many times. And they’ll want to talk to you, Johanna. Guarantee it.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Becca leaned forward in her seat. Old as she was, even clad in her handmade floral blouse, a fierce look had come into her eyes. The last rays of afternoon sun caught off her gray-blue irises, giving her gaze the fire of a much younger woman.

“Because there’s so much that they know that they don’t want people to forget.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fancasts:
> 
> Mila Kunis as Becca Barnes-Proctor  
> Odeya Rush as Leah Barnes-Tanaka  
> Hailee Steinfeld as Miriam Barnes  
> Julianna Margulies as Winifred Barnes  
> Liam Neeson as George Barnes  
> Antonia Campbell-Hughes as Sarah Rogers  
> Keke Palmer as Lucy Smith  
> Amber Midthunder as Minnie Connolly  
> Alex Rice as Katherine Connolly  
> Michael Fassbender as John Connolly  
> Gina Rodriguez as Izzy Arellano  
> Prince Royce as Cisco Arellano  
> Stephan James as Jason Leveau  
> Julia Louis-Dreyfuss as Blanche Kingsley  
> Dustin Hoffman as Ezekiel Perlstein  
> Winona Ryder as Rachel Barnes

**Author's Note:**

> Fancasts:
> 
> Zoe Kravitz as Johanna Proctor  
> Nicole Beharie as Lilly Alvez  
> Gabrielle Union as Evie Proctor-Jackson  
> Jason Isaacs as Jim Proctor  
> Regina King as Louisa Proctor  
> Lisa Edelstein as Judith Proctor-Jackson  
> Dan Futterman as Benji Proctor  
> Zahn McClarnon as Charlie Redfeather

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fan art for "The Man Behind The Shield"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8441413) by [Lymmel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lymmel/pseuds/Lymmel)




End file.
